


Downwards, Ever Faster

by laireshi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Fluff to heartbreak, Getting Together, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Pining, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8810758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: "I love you, Tony," Steve says, and Tony believes him.
Tony never thought he could be so happy. Maybe after New York and Sokovia his luck has finally turned. He looks forward to the future--with Steve at his side. It's perfect.That is, until Lagos happens, and the Sokovian Accords are thrown between Steve and Tony. Good thing Tony knows that they can get through anything together. Can't they?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Downwards, Ever Faster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12113661) by [Celeste_030](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celeste_030/pseuds/Celeste_030)



> [sleepyoceanprince](http://sleepyoceanprince.tumblr.com/) made beautiful art! Also, they were so patient with my panicking and delays with writing. THANK YOU.
> 
>  **[Link to art](http://sleepyoceanprince.tumblr.com/post/154305232668/art-for-laireshis-awesome-incredibly-angsty-and)** \- tell the artist how pretty it is!!!  
>  Plus, [the permalink.](http://68.media.tumblr.com/51827b44ac805cbb5bbe5d15674e3e9d/tumblr_ohzs2euDWM1upvrsbo1_r1_1280.png)
> 
> Thanks for awesome last minute beta to [Valmasy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Valmasy/pseuds/Valmasy) and [Comicsohwhyohwhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/comicsohwhyohwhy)! I also want to reiterate that this fic is 100% Comicsohwhyohwhy's fault, no matter what she says on the matter. I'm innocent.
> 
> Big thanks to the event mods, too! 
> 
> I started writing this fic in May, just after seeing CACW. It took me half a year to finish it, but here it is! All my Tony feels in one place.
> 
>  
> 
> There's a Chinese translation available [here](http://www.mtslash.org/thread-221608-1-1.html). Thanks to [celestewuu](http://celestewuu.tumblr.com/)!

“I will miss you, Tony,” Steve said.

 _Sure you will_ , Tony thought, but replied on automatic; he could act and smile and lie with the best of them. “Yeah? Well it’s time for me to tap out. Maybe I should take a page out of Barton’s book. Build Pepper . . .” _Fuck_.

He’d build Pepper everything, if only she asked, but that was the problem: she didn’t want him to. She didn’t want . . . him.

“Tony—” Steve sounded worried.

Tony forced himself to smile, dammit. “I’m fine,” he lied. “It wasn’t working. It was time to take a break.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said immediately.

Tony winced, spoke right over him. He wasn’t important, but Steve . . . Steve had also lost everything. “Are _you_ alright?”

Steve smiled, honest, open. “I’m home.” He gestured at the New Avengers facility behind him. He tilted his head. “ _You_ gave me a home. So whatever you’re thinking now—I _will_ miss you.”

Tony wasn’t sure what he replied with: something meaningless, he was sure, as he got in the car to put a layer between him and Steve. It was too much.

 _Miss him_ , sure.

No one missed him. People breathed with relief when he left.

He’d thought it’d be different with Pepper—he wasn’t going there again.

He thought he could be good enough, without the suit, but that was never going to be true. But he wasn’t even good enough in the suit, not good enough to stop Ultron until it got too late, not good enough to stop people dying. He’d never stopped being the Merchant of Death. Everyone knew that now.

He drove off to the empty mansion—the Tower was Pepper’s—and fixed himself a drink.

Steve’s parting words didn’t want to leave him, though, because Steve couldn’t be honest, but then—Captain America never lied, wasn’t that the truth? The best man. And Tony had met him, under the mask, and for a split second he’d almost hated him, because Steve did live up to everything said about him.

And then he couldn’t hate him anymore, because how could anyone; it was like hating puppies. Really giant puppies that could also kill you, but puppies nevertheless.

Tony shook his head to clear it of any thoughts and took another drink.

He needed a break, so much, but he had to design new gear for the New Avengers, make sure that Rhodey was safe, that they were all safe—and then deal with the fireworks, because he knew _something_ was coming.

Sokovia was too big, and too public, for nothing to come off it. Tony was a businessman, just another word for a politician.

He had to be prepared at least for that.

***

“I need her to be faster,” Rhodey said, gesturing at his suit.

“Sure, honey-bear.” Tony nodded. It’d be hard, but not impossible—and it was important, more so if the War Machine was to manoeuvre with other superheroes, and not just be deployed as a single combatant.

“You should swing by the compound some time,” Rhodey said apropos of nothing as Tony was pulling up his suit specs.

“You’re here.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “To see the others.”

“My calendar is kinda full, but I’ll try to fit that in, right after _extend my genius again to update Rhodes’ armour_. Maybe before, ah _, work on protective materials for the suits for everyone else so they don't get shot._ ”

“Tones.”

Rhodey was giving him a _look_ , the one that said _I see right through your bullshit and you should know better than to try_. 

Tony was never going to learn not to try. “Rhodey, apple pie—”

Rhodey snorted. “Save that one for Steve.”

“Actually.” Tony considered. “I might.”

“You sure you don’t want to move there?” Rhodey asked.

Tony put his hands in his pockets to hide how much they were shaking. It’s not as if Rhodey didn’t know, but . . . “I’m better here,” he said, and it wasn’t completely a lie.

Friday monitored his vitals and woke him up from nightmares. If that meant he didn’t sleep on most nights, well, there was no one to see. 

But now, thanks to Rhodey, he wanted to visit the New Avengers and see their progress. He wanted to see if they liked the equipment Tony had prepared for them. He wanted to see if Steve had meant it when he’d said he’d found his _home_.

Tony had lost his home so many times—and he’d always thought he’d managed to rebuild, only to have it destroyed again. Pepper was different.

But Pepper also left, and he really couldn’t blame her for that.

Sometimes, Tony thought he’d never had a _home_ to begin with.

Tony didn’t know where he was now. It wasn’t home, but it was a house, and dealing with his particular ghosts seemed better here.

He didn’t like it. He reached for a tumbler of whiskey.

“Tones?”

Tony looked up. Rhodey was frowning, worried. “Weren’t you working?”

“I thought we were talking,” Tony said, taking a sip. 

“I’m just worried,” Rhodey cut in. “You know that.” 

“I’ll build you your suit.” Tony waved his hand dismissively. What else was Tony good for, really.

“Not about that.” Rhodey fixed him with a stare. 

Tony was not going to win that one. His best friend was a menace. “I’ll come visit.”

“I’m glad.” Rhodey smiled at him.

Tony just took another sip, but Rhodey didn’t comment this time. “Call me if it gets too much,” he said instead, and Tony knew Rhodey, and knew it was an order—but he didn’t mind.

It was Rhodey, so of course he would. “Sir, yes, sir,” he said.

Tony walked up to his laptop then, put in the objective function for the new suit, let his computers start calculating that in the space of other constraints he’d put in earlier. It’d make his work later easier.

They moved to the living room and sprawled on the sofas. Tony put his cold feet in Rhodey’s lap and ignored his yelp. They ordered pizza, and then Rhodey told him about the New Avengers, and Tony pretended he wasn’t drinking in every word. It sounded like _family_ , and it was a concept almost alien to Tony, and he _wanted to know more_.

It was almost better than the whiskey—but even after Rhodey left, Tony didn’t drink. 

***

Steve fucking _beamed_ when he saw Tony, and Steve must’ve seen Tony’s car in the driveway and dropped whatever he was doing to get to Tony just as he was getting out of the car.

“Tony,” he said, his ridiculous—open, honest, and _happy—_ smile still in place. “You’re here.”

“Rhodey said you missed my stellar presence,” Tony joked. 

“I told you I would,” Steve replied simply. 

“I’m glad to see you haven’t blown it up yet,” Tony said once inside. “The walls should withstand the Hulk though, so maybe I should be proud if you manage to bring them down.”

He looked at Vision, standing close to Wanda, between her and the window; protective. Was he even aware he was doing that? Just one more unknown variable to the already unstable equation Tony had in his hands.

Rhodey caught his gaze and nodded briefly, before he smiled and went in for a hug. “How’s my suit?”

“Getting faster.” Tony patted him on the back. “Missed you too, sourpatch.”

“Is he getting updates?” Sam called. “That’s cheating!”

“Tony’s designing all our equipment already,” Steve said, shaking his head.

“That he is.” Nat spoke from the doorway. “Thanks, by the way, it’s really great.”

“I know. You all can’t live without me.” If only that were true. “Wishlists can be forwarded to my Avengers email.”

It was different than the last team. It didn’t really feel like _his_ team in the same way. But it didn’t really feel totally alien, either, and Tony thought he could find his place here.

He tensed almost immediately. The thought was dangerous. He was supposed to have learnt his lessons.

But then Steve’s hand was on his arm, squeezing. “Or you could visit more often.”

And just like that, Tony did feel the stranger that he was there. He stared at Steve, hurt. “It’s actually more comfortable for me to get emails with all the details. I have my workshop at the mansion, and—”

“ _Visit_ ,” Steve repeated. “You know. Hang out. Have fun. Like friends do.” His fingers were still wrapped around Tony’s arm, warm, suddenly somehow _safe_.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not on the team anymore, and—”

“You’re a friend.” Steve spoke like he was stating something obvious. Like Tony was the stupid one for not realising that. But Tony was a genius, and he knew he didn’t have friends. Not in plural. He only had Rhodey left.

“You’re my friend,” Steve repeated, and his eyes were very blue, and very honest, and Tony found himself nodding.

***

He’d finished Rhodey’s updates quickly. A part of him wanted to draw it out, just in case the New Avengers wouldn’t want him around later—but he knew Rhodey wasn’t like that. And well, he really wouldn’t withhold equipment that might save someone’s life from anyone. 

Someone knocked at his lab door. “Going, honey bear!” he called and got up. Only Rhodey had the keys, and Friday would’ve alerted him to other people earlier.

He opened the door and found himself in front of Steve.

“Honey bear?” Steve asked, amused.

“Not you. You’re apple pie,” Tony replied quickly. He had given the keys to Steve too; that was true. He just hadn’t expected him to use them. “Very wholesome.”

“And boring?”

“Have you ever tried apple pie?” Tony widened his eyes in horror. “Sweet and delicious.”

“I guess I can live with that,” Steve grinned. Then he shifted on his feet, oddly uncertain. “Sorry I let myself in, but I guessed you’d be in the lab, and . . .” He trailed off.

“It’s fine,” Tony said. “You’re not an assassin coming to kill me, right? Then we’re good. Or are you? Do we have shapeshifters now too? You never know.”

Steve laughed. “No, Tony, not to my knowledge.”

“Any particular reason for your visit, then?” Tony asked. He was genuinely curious. Maybe . . . No, Steve probably just needed something.

Steve shrugged. “I wanted to talk to you. Or—I could sketch here, if you’re busy?”

“If you want me to model for you, all you have to do is ask,” Tony said, brain to mouth filter forgotten. “I usually wear clothes in the lab, but all could be arranged.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No, Tony, I guess what I wanted was to spend time with you.”

 _Clothed_ , provided Tony’s brain, and he pushed it away. Steve probably wasn’t into casual sex anyway. Tony wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. And Steve _was_ hot, but Tony wasn’t going to destroy—whatever it was they had between them, now; shy, tiny friendship?—by proposing. 

“Friday, save my work,” Tony called before looking back at Steve. “Movie night?”

“Afternoon,” Steve corrected. “Are you really okay with that?”

“I’ve just finished anyway,” Tony said, like it wasn’t important that Steve came. Like Tony wasn’t happy to see him.

But admitting those would be dangerous.

“Do you still have anything on that list of yours left to watch?” Tony asked. It’s been years, but they didn’t exactly have a lot of free time.

“There are the Lord of the Rings adaptations,” Steve admitted.

“No,” Tony said. “No. We’re not watching that. It’s a crime.”

“I like the books,” Steve said. “I read The Hobbit before—well. Before.”

 _Before the ice_ , Tony filled in, and he really was an idiot. But The Fellowship of the Ring was published after the war, so . . . “You’ve caught up on the books, then?”

“Yeah.” Steve looked excited, happy. He was smiling, and he was speaking faster, almost bouncing on his feet. Tony liked it on him. “They’re awesome. I was overjoyed to find more. I haven’t yet read the History of Middle-Earth, but I’ve heard about the movies, and I’m curious.”

“Well,” Tony said, putting his hand on Steve’s elbow and steering him towards the living room, “the movies suck, but I suppose everyone has to live through the horror of watching them at least once. At least you’ll have me for company.”

“That’d make everything bearable,” Steve said.

Tony didn’t answer, suddenly unsure of his footing in this conversation. “Sit down, I’ll get some refreshments.”

He was glad he lived in a big mansion and Friday remembered to order the groceries. He was prepared for guests. Steve wouldn’t notice how empty and lonely it really was.

Tony passed Steve a can of coke, sat down next to him and started the film.

It made perfect sense that while refusing to watch it, Tony still knew it by heart, and he smiled at the beginning. Steve was visibly excited, his eyes wide open, leaning forward to the screen, and Tony found himself observing Steve more than the actual movie. He was always so serious as Captain America; the burden of the title obviously weighing on him. Tony _liked_ seeing just Steve. And he really liked it when Steve was himself next to him.

Steve gasped—Tony looked at the screen, and yeah, it was Arwen saving Frodo. 

“I know,” Tony said, patting his knee with some consolation. “I know.”

“But it wasn’t her,” Steve pouted, but kept watching.

Tony smiled to himself. He leant back for a moment. The soundtrack was good, he had to admit. He wanted to look at Steve, but somehow, his eyes were closed. He was exhausted, but . . . He didn’t really feel like opening them again. Steve was a safe presence next to him. Tony moved closer to him.

***

Hours later, he woke up, his neck hurting from the unnatural position, but aside from that more rested than he’d felt in weeks.

The movie was still running, quieter now—The Return of the King. Oh. He must’ve slept through two of them. Steve must’ve . . .

There was someone warm next to him. Actually, there was someone warm Tony was leaning against. And something warm around his shoulders.

Tony glanced to the left and yes, it was Steve, embracing him as he slept. 

Tony straightened up quickly. “Sorry. I made terrible company tonight.”

Steve made an aborted movement in his direction, almost as if he wanted to bring Tony closer in again. “You looked tired,” he said. 

“Not an excuse to fall asleep on you.”

“I didn’t mind,” Steve said. “And you were right. At first, there was no Tom Bombadil, and I tried to understand, but then . . .”

He looked _adorable_ , getting worked up like that. Not that Tony didn’t understand. He _did_ consider buying the rights to make the movies again, only _better_.

“You watched so much, might as well finish.”

They did, their legs pressed together on the sofa, and at some point Steve’s hand found its way back around Tony’s arms, and it was so nice and domestic Tony didn’t know what to do at all.

***

Tony’s phone rang, the only sound in the empty house. He looked at the screen and smiled.

“Hi, Rhodey-Bear,” Tony said.

“I love the armour,” Rhodey replied. The connection quality was perfect, of course, but there was something in Rhodey’s voice, some exhilaration—

“You’re flying now,” Tony realised.

“And loving it,” Rhodey repeated. “Thanks.”

“How’re trainings going?” Tony leant back in his chair.

“Why don’t you come and see? Steve’s been asking about you.”

“I do make an impression,” Tony said. “As you well know.”

“He likes you,” Rhodey said. “You could come by.”

“Excuse me, am I in Groundhog Day, except darker? My best friend threatening me to go to a special facility—”

“Your best friend telling you to do what you want to do anyway, but won’t decide to on your own?” Rhodey chimed in, sounding way too pleased with himself.

Tony didn’t know why he even talked with him.

(Okay, because he loved Rhodey. But still. He knew Tony way too well.)

“Or you could come fly with me,” Rhodey offered.

Tony looked at his blank wall. “I think silk suit doesn’t work too well for that,” he finally replied. He was retired from the hero business. He _wanted_ to be retired.

He heard Rhodey’s sigh. “You miss it.”

“I miss many things,” Tony snapped before he could stop himself.

Wasn’t that how his life went? He’d end up losing everything important he had.

“Tones . . .”

“I’m fine, Rhodey,” Tony said, reaching for his drink. 

He did miss Steve, too, though.

***

Tony parked at the New Avengers compound. He was a bit disappointed Steve didn’t come out to meet him this time. He must’ve had better things to do, and it wasn’t like Tony announced his arrival.

He let himself in, and met Vision hovering in the hallway. “Captain Rogers is sparring with Agent Romanov,” he said. 

Tony let his imagination run for a second and then blinked. Yes. That. _Interesting_.

“I arrived just in time, then.”

He’d never get Jarvis back, Tony knew, and he shouldn’t miss him if he created Vision, but following him to the gym now, Tony missed the voice that’d been with him his whole life.

Vision phased through the door in front of Tony, and Tony chuckled, opening it quietly. 

Steve was shirtless and sweaty, standing in the corner now, breathing heavily. Nat had black workout clothes on, her hair tied up; she was watching Steve’s every move.

They moved in the same moment, moving so fast it seemed inhuman and really lethally beautiful. 

Nat didn’t usually block Steve’s punches; she dodged and jumped behind him, used his momentum against him. She had more training than him, but Steve was incredibly acrobatic, and they seemed perfectly matched.

Tony didn’t really see what happened, but the next second Steve was flat on his back, Nat’s hand on his throat.

He tapped the mat three times, and got up with a smile. “This was fun.” 

“Yes it was,” Nat said. “Hi, Tony!”

He wasn’t particularly surprised she’d noticed him, and he waved back. “That was something,” he said.

“Eloquent as ever,” Nat replied. She picked up two towels and threw one to Steve.

Steve jumped off the mat and walked to Tony. “You should’ve called me,” he said. “I’d be dressed.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Tony said.

“Wanna go a round?” Steve asked, and it was so different to the moment they’d met on the Helicarrier ages ago.

“I think I’ll pass. Watching you was tiring. In the best way possible.”

“Nat’s great,” Steve said. “I’m glad she stayed.”

Tony tensed. 

“I get why you didn’t,” Steve hurried on. “I—I’d like you back on the team. But I get it.”

“You have Rhodey. Don’t get greedy. Doesn’t become you.” Tony considered. “Also, he’s a better pilot.”

“Really not the point, Tony,” Steve sighed. “Let me take a shower.”

Tony let himself look at Steve’s naked chest again before drawing his eyes back up. “You don’t have to on my account.”

Steve chuckled. “We’ll get there.” He was looking straight at Tony.

 _Wait, what_.

On second thought, less distracting conditions would be good.

“Okay, shower for you,” Tony said. “Apple pies should be served fresh.”

Steve was laughing as he went to the locker rooms.

***

Tony went to the kitchen and found Rhodey there, back from his test flight. Rhodey gave him a mug of coffee without a word.

“That’s why I love you,” Tony said. 

“Your love affair with coffee should stay private,” Rhodey said. 

Tony flipped him off without looking. 

Wanda walked into the kitchen, juggling three oranges with her powers. It was very pretty, a play of red light captivating enough Tony could almost forget the vision she’d sent him.

It wasn’t her fault, he repeated to himself quietly, and forced himself to smile. “Getting better?”

She didn’t startle. “I’m more comfortable here.” She looked around. “I—thank you.”

Ultron was his fault. There was nothing she had to thank him for. Vision saved him from replying, showing up from under the floor. 

“Doors?” Tony said. “I distinctly remember building in doors. No offence, just a bit creepy.”

Vision smiled apologetically. “I keep forgetting about that.”

Nat walked in next, her hair still dripping wet, a towel on her arms. “I need food after that sparring.” She went towards the fridge.

Tony threw his bag of dried raspberries to her without a word, and she turned and smiled at him as she caught them. “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony realised he was in a kitchen with four other people, one of whom didn’t even need to eat, and they were mostly joking around, everyone content, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this.

“Sam’s playing with Redwing,” Rhodey explained. “He loves him.”

“Because this team didn’t have enough people with a questionable relationship with their tech,” Nat commented.

“Hey, my suit is awesome,” Rhodey exclaimed.

“It is,” Tony chimed in. “I’d know.”

Steve showed up, completely dressed this time. Tony loved whoever it was that convinced Steve the incredibly tight t-shirts were his size. A gift to all mankind.

“I’m starving,” Steve said. “Nat exhausted me.”

“Well, good, you exhausted me.”

Steve’s eyes fell on Tony. “Are you hungry? Could we get lunch?”

Tony noticed a million things at once. Rhodey seemed pleased. Nat was smiling. Vision was still looking at Wanda. Wanda looked delighted.

Steve’s eyes were still only on Tony, and his voice was serious, and _had he really just asked Tony out on a date in front of all his friends_.

He couldn’t have.

 _Lunch_. That didn’t have to mean a date. It could be . . . something that friends do. Away from other friends. Yes. That was it.

“I’m choosing,” Tony said. “I wouldn’t trust your taste, apple pie.”

Steve beamed. “Let’s go, then.”

Tony waved at everyone else and ignored the gesture Rhodey was making at him. “See you.”

***

They ended up getting take-away to Tony’s mansion—he didn’t really want to deal with avoiding paparazzi today. But the food was still good, something different than pizza, and it was just the two of them by Steve’s conscious decision.

It was nice.

Tony would rather like to go on many dates with Steve, paparazzi be damned—except he still wasn’t really sure what _this_ was.

Steve’s hand was at his arm, suddenly, squeezing, and without thinking about it, Tony let himself relax immediately. “You seem to have a tendency to overthink things,” Steve said quietly, right into Tony’s ear; intimate.

Tony bit back a laugh. “You don’t say.”

“The New Avengers could be your home.”

 _No, no they couldn’t_. And he wouldn’t hope otherwise.

“And I’m really busy, I should get back to work,” Tony said, steering himself towards the door. He thought Steve would let him go—until he felt Steve’s hand settle on his arm again, barely there. Steve wasn’t actually stopping him—Tony could still walk out, if he wanted to. But did he? Where would he go anyway, hide in his workshop until Steve got the memo and left himself?

“They really like you. That won’t change,” Steve informed him. “And as for me—”

Tony couldn’t hear this. “Are you a fortune teller as well as a mind reader now, because that really should be in your file; not to mention I’ve always thought telepaths were a gross overpassing of privacy, and—”

Tony couldn’t keep talking, because suddenly Steve was in his space, his hands gently cupping Tony’s face, and Steve was kissing him, and Tony had a feeling his brain short-circuited.

He stood on his toes the better to reach Steve, even as he pulled him down by the grip he had on his neck. Steve was deliciously warm (running a bit higher than a normal human, Tony’s brain helpfully supplied) and strong, and he was _Steve—_ and Tony hated to be wrong, but if it was about Steve’s stance on casual sex, he’d take it. 

(Steve couldn’t want more; no one ever did.)

If he even wanted sex at all. If he wouldn’t push Tony away in a second and never look at him again.

“ _Stay_ ,” Steve said once they paused for breath, and yes, of course Tony was going to stay, had that ever been a question?

***

He woke up with a scream on his lips and a wildly beating heart; the images of his team dying, of Steve dying because of Tony’s mistakes, still behind his eyelids. 

There was someone next to him, reaching for him, and Tony blindly struck out. 

“Tony, it’s me,” someone said even as they caught the punch, and Tony understood. 

Steve.

In his bed.

 _That’s why you shouldn’t fall asleep with your one night stand lover,_ Tony remembered.

“Sorry,” Tony said. “Sorry, I—”

“Can I touch you?” Steve asked, and it was so ridiculous, Tony nodded immediately.

Steve gathered him in his arms and held him close.

Tony didn’t want to protest that he really had to leave. That could wait for tomorrow. For now, he wanted nothing more than to sleep in Steve’s arms.

He could be selfish for a few hours.

***

He knew how it went, so he tried to sneak out in the morning; much as it was more awkward when they were in his room.

It’d be easier if Steve hadn’t been tightly wrapped around him like an octopus.

Tony let himself stay in Steve’s arms for the time being and tried to get his breathing under control. There was a reason for anti-fraternization laws. Hell, he and Pepper could probably serve as an example.

Steve still felt safe, and it was impossible not to face the one very important fact: after the first nightmare, after Steve hugged him close, Tony had actually slept through the night.

He shouldn’t let himself hope for more, but as Steve turned and nuzzled into Tony’s neck, for all intents and purposes still dead to the world, Tony thought he wouldn’t mind waking up like that more often. If Steve liked casual sex then maybe he’d like to be friends with benefits. Tony would be fine with that.

He would.

(But he didn’t doubt it was a one time thing, nothing serious. Curiosity satisfied. They can go back to never seeing each other.

Tony didn’t want that.)

***

The next time he woke up, Steve was still wrapped around him, but his eyes were open, watching Tony with some curiosity.

“Morning,” Tony said. 

“Morning,” Steve smiled back. He moved in to kiss him, and it was nothing Tony expected and everything he’d hoped for, so he ignored the morning breath both of them had and kissed Steve.

“Did you sleep better, after . . . ?” Steve asked quietly.

Tony nodded. “Thank you.”

Steve smiled, pulled him in again. 

Tony wanted to say something. They should talk. He should ask what it was, between them. If there even was anything. But then Steve kissed his neck and whispered, “I like waking up next to you.”

Tony liked waking up next to Steve too, but he doubted it’d last. Steve would change his mind. He probably only said it to be polite.

Because no one loved Tony Stark.

( _Who said anything about love, Tony?,_ he asked himself.)

***

Steve threw the shield, hitting the first target perfectly. It ricocheted and flew straight into the second one, knocking it down before bouncing off the wall and flying back to Steve.

Tony knew the equations behind the physics of it, but it was still fascinating to watch—even if Steve was winning with the training bots way too quickly. Tony should upgrade them.

“Hi,” Steve said. “Didn’t you say not to come in here during simulations?”

Tony shrugged. “My simulations, my rules,” he said.

Steve grinned. He put the shield on his back. “I’ve never said thank you.”

Tony raised his eyebrows.

“For the shield,” Steve clarified. “You found it, right. After . . .”

After Steve went down in Washington, Tony finished, and shuddered at the thought.

“Fishing out a piece of vibranium isn’t that difficult if you have a metal suit.” He waved his hand. “Don’t mention it.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Steve said.

Tony looked away. Speaking of the fight in Washington . . . “I can help, you know.” At Steve’s questioning look, he clarified. “Find him.”

Steve stilled for a second. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he just shook his head. “I don’t think he wants to be found.” He paused. “I—I’ll keep trying. But it should be just me.”

Tony told himself it didn’t sting. That it was fine when Steve disappeared without a word and came back bruised and silent. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand—everyone knew Bucky had been his best friend. Tony better than most. But he wished Steve would trust him enough to let him help. He had the resources, after all; it’d be only logical.

Sometimes it was as if Steve was afraid of finding him again, though.

Tony wished Steve would talk to him, too.

“Come on.” Steve put his hand on Tony’s arm when he reached him in the doorway. “Sam and Wanda are scheduled to train together in thirty minutes.”

Tony touched Steve’s cheek, felt warmth at the way Steve leant into his touch. “You’ll tell me . . .”

“I’m okay, Tony,” Steve said. “I’m okay when I’m with you.” He kissed Tony’s palm.

Tony did not flush.

***

“Steve’s not here,” were Nat’s first words to him when he arrived at the compound.

Couldn’t he visit them as friends, weren’t they supposed to be those, he wanted to snap, but—

“He didn’t tell you.” It didn’t sound like a question. 

It’s not as if Steve had to tell him these things, of course. He didn’t need Tony’s approval and he already made it clear he didn’t need Tony’s help.

Nat sighed. “He’s an idiot,” she said. “It should be a quick thing. Back tomorrow. He must’ve thought he wouldn’t worry you like that.”

Or he didn’t care enough to tell Tony he disappeared alone, on his own, to look for a very dangerous assassin who might’ve been his childhood friend.

“You can tell him I certainly don’t want to spoil his private hide-and-seek game with Barnes, if he worries about that,” Tony said, “but a word of warning would be nice, I am a businessman, my calendar isn’t just _Steve_.”

He could—he could track Steve, but Steve would be mad about that, and it wasn’t the first time Steve had disappeared like that, but it was the first time since they—

Clearly it didn’t mean the same thing to Steve. Tony should’ve known; he was always the one caring more.

“Tony,” Nat said quietly. “If I know him—he really just wanted to protect you.”

Tony laughed. “Do you know him like you know me? Your target? How did that work?”

“You don’t have to lash out—”

Tony slid back into his car. She didn’t try stop him. 

He hoped Steve was okay. He hoped he’d come back safe. Everything would be fine if only Steve came back whole.

Tony drove to his mansion, and took a bottle of whiskey with him to his lab.

He played with the ideas to find a super-soldier anywhere around the world, and then he drank until he couldn’t remember anymore how to code any single one of them.

***

Tony was working on prosthetics projects for Stark Industries. Shutting weapons manufacturing would never be enough, but he could help both soldiers and civilians this way. Iron Man suits provided good experience he could use now.

As if that changed the fact the suits were nothing more but WMDs.

“That kid seemed pretty happy with his new arm,” Steve said.

Tony swirled around on his chair. “Excuse me?”

“You only space out like that when it’s something unpleasant.” Steve set his notebook down. “But I saw the kids you helped with with prosthetics. It was good, Tony.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be drawing here,” Tony said. “I know I’m distracting, but really, we’re working—”

Steve grinned, raised the notebook again and turned it in Tony’s direction. “I was.”

He’d sketched Tony at work, leaning over his desk, concentrated. His eyes seemed shining. Tony had no idea how Steve managed it with just a pencil. 

“Sneaky,” Tony commented.

Steve glanced at him. “What did you think I drew in your workshop?” He flipped through the pages to demonstrate.

Tony’d never thought to ask. No, that wasn’t quite true—he’d been curious, but he understood what it meant to create; some things were private. It was the author’s right to decide when and if to show them to anyone.

But there, in the pages of Steve’s sketchbook, was Tony; working in the lab, his face lit with the computer screens, reading in the sofa upstairs, talking with Nat; Tony’s hands, Tony’s eyes. A study in a person.

A study in Tony.

It was weirdly intimate.

“The offer to pose still stands, you know,” Tony said to break the silence.

Steve smiled. “You’re only ever still if you’re stressed. I like you in movement.”

“Nonsense,” Tony muttered, and then he stood up, walked up to Steve, “I’ll show you movement,” and it was so much easier to kiss him than to see understanding in his eyes.

***

He was spending more and more time in the New Avengers facility kitchen. Technically, he had a lab there—technically, he had a _bedroom_ there, but if he stayed the night it was always in Steve’s bed—but he didn’t want to move any of his work there.

Not yet.

(Not ever, he reminded himself. It wouldn’t happen.)

Nat went in, smiling softly as she made a beeline for the kettle.

“Talked to Clint, did you?” Tony asked. “He really could come back.”

“Look who’s talking,” Nat shot back at him. 

“Hey, I’m here,” Tony protested. 

“You made Steve unbearable,” she informed him calmly while reaching for a mug. “The least you could do is stay here.”

Tony blanched.

“He keeps talking about you. Not that he didn’t before, but he used to be more subtle.”

“Well, I am a handful,” Tony muttered. 

“And he’s a lovesick puppy,” Nat said before sitting in front of him with her tea. “It’s a good look on him.” She considered. “On you, too.”

Tony stood up. “I was supposed to meet Stark Industries engineers today,” he said. “In fact, I’m late. I don’t know what I’m still doing here. Tell Clint hi.”

Why was she doing this? They were supposed to be—friends, he guessed. There was no reason for her to be cruel, to give him hope. Steve would move on soon enough. He—

“Idiot,” Nat said, sounding fondly.

Tony realised he was running away, but he didn’t care. Suddenly, he just didn’t want to see Steve. He didn’t know what he’d say. What he could say. His hands were shaking. 

_Lovesick puppy, Steve_ , as if, but—Tony—that was a whole ‘nother story.

Of course, that was precisely why he ran into Steve the moment he stepped out of the kitchen.

Steve caught him by his elbow, stabilised him on his feet, and Tony hated how that immediately made him feel more secure.

“Did something happen?” Steve looked at Tony closely, frowning with worry. “You look . . .”

“You two should talk,” Nat said from behind Tony, and then she left. He wanted to say she ran away, but he knew she was giving them space.

Space they didn’t need, because nothing was wrong, and Tony was fine, and—

“What are we doing?” Tony blurted out.

Steve blinked a few times. “Excuse me?”

Tony shrugged his hand off, gestured between them. “This. Here. Us. What is it?”

“I hoped we’d get breakfast, but—”

“I’m serious,” Tony snapped. “Are we dating? Are we friends with benefits? Are we . . . what are we?”

Steve bit on his lower lip. “What brought this on?” he asked carefully.

“Answer me.”

Steve sighed, set his hands on his hips. “I thought we were dating. I thought it was obvious.” He tilted his head. “Aren’t we?”

“We are?” Tony repeated, feeling light-headed. 

“Tony. What did you think we were doing?” Steve slowly put his hands on Tony’s arms, made him look up and meet Steve’s eyes. Tony wanted to drown in the blue; quite literally at the moment. He didn’t want to answer that. But Steve deserved honesty.

He took a deep breath. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I thought—never mind. I liked it.” He wrung his hands together. “I _like_ it,” he corrected himself. “A lot. I just—I didn’t know what it was for you.”

He expected Steve to get angry, but his face softened. “Tony, I like being with you. I like spending time with you. I like having sex with you. I like _you_.” He frowned. “What, did you think I was only in it for the sex?”

“I told you I didn’t know what you thought!” Tony snapped. “Please try not to make me feel more pathetic. Dating. I can deal with dating. Dating is good. Flowers, what do you think about flowers, I—”

Steve kissed him, effectively shutting him up. Then he moved away just enough to lean his forehead against Tony’s and grin at him. “Dating is good,” he agreed. “But you really should’ve asked that sooner.”

“I don’t know, I quite like where we ended up,” Tony said, and kissed him again.

 _Steve liked him_.

Captain America didn’t lie.

Tony thought that maybe it was true.

***

“You like Steve, right?” Tony asked out of the blue, when they were lounging on Tony’s terrace one day.

Rhodey started laughing. “Have you considered just moving to the compound?”

Tony looked at him sideways.

“You’re there every other day,” Rhodey said. “And I know it’s not _every_ day just because he doesn’t want to push you and visits you here sometimes.”

“And?”

“The point is, Tones, you’re both sickeningly in love with each other, and he’s clearly good for you, so even if I didn’t know him, I’d like him just for that. As it is, we’re on one team, of course I like him.” Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Let it be the proof of my love to you that I even explained it.”

Tony didn’t like the l-word. It was too heavy. Too many promises that always ended up broken. But he was so very glad Rhodey liked Tony’s . . . boyfriend? That sounded . . . nice, he had to admit. Like it’d last.

“And you’re serious about him. You’ve never asked me before. Apart from . . . but that was different.”

“Pepper’s perfect and you’ve known her for ages, of course you like her.” Tony discovered talking about Pepper got easier. Not easy, never that—but he could try. Especially with Rhodey.

Rhodey smiled. “Steve’s good for you,” he repeated. “I’m glad.”

“Okay, this is getting sentimental. Obviously I don’t do that, Friday is programmed to zap me if I start, I think her programming is failing—”

Rhodey was laughing again. “It’s fine, Tony. It really is.”

Tony let himself smile too.

“So the New Avengers was a good idea for you?” he made sure. Rhodey seemed content, but it was different from his earlier experiences.

“Yes, genius,” Rhodey said. “It’d be even better if you were there.”

“Don’t,” Tony asked.

Rhodey nodded.

***

“Your technique is good.” Steve nodded with approval. 

Tony looked up at him from the mat. He didn’t feel like getting up in this century. Or ever. “Doesn’t seem so from here.”

“I said technique. Happy knew what he was doing. Nat helped you later, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. And okay, he should’ve kept up the trainings, but . . . He got enough exercise as Iron Man, and Happy got hurt, and Tony wasn’t even on the active duty now.

Maybe he could train with Steve now. It’s not as if he didn’t like it.

“We’ll work on your stamina.”

“My stamina is plenty good for a guy in my age, thank you very much.”

“Always room for improvement,” Steve pointed out. “That and reflexes.”

“You do realise I don’t need either when I’m in the suit?” 

“What if you’re surprised outside of it?” Steve asked, and he sounded serious now.

Tony sighed. “I’ll show you my newest toy in the evening,” he promised. “No, don’t look at me like that, I won’t tell you now.”

“Okay.” Steve sat next to Tony, put his hand on Tony’s chest, over his heart. Tony realised he hadn’t even tensed as Steve reached out to him. 

Another bullet to the ever growing list proving to him that yes, he was falling in love with Captain America.

(He already had.)

“What if someone gets you out of the suit, then?”

Tony shook his head. “Not possible. I can take the Hulk on in it.” He pursed his lips. “Unless someone hits me with an EMP,” he admitted unwillingly. He didn’t like this weakness. “But I’m working on it. Unfocused pulses are fine.”

Steve leant down until his forehead was resting on Tony’s chest. “I worry, sometimes.”

“Steve,” Tony said. “I’m not on active duty, that’s one. But more importantly, two, I’ve been Iron Man for a _long_ time. And I’m the only Avenger wearing a suit of metal armour to the fight. I don’t need to be protected.”

Steve smiled. “No. I guess you don’t.” His voice was quiet, Tony could barely hear him now. “I never said it was logical.”

“Well, logic is how I operate,” Tony sat up, forcing Steve to move in the process. Steve apparently took it as an invitation to embrace him. Tony didn’t mind. “I’m taking it there was nothing on your last search?” Tony asked finally. Steve hadn’t said anything yet, but Tony had learnt not to ask immediately—and also never not to ask at all.

Tony more felt than saw Steve shaking his head. Tony just hugged him closer. “You’ll find him.” It was exactly the kind of empty reassurance Tony hated, but Steve needed them at times, and—well, if he let Tony look, it wouldn’t take long.

“We might have a lead on Rumlow,” Steve added after a moment. 

“Careful. He hates you.”

“Who’s overprotective now,” Steve replied.

They got out of the gym, eventually; smiling, safe, together.

***

Tony was woken up by a delicious smell. 

“Friday?”

“Steve didn’t let me say,” came her apologetic voice.

“Menace,” Tony muttered, before pulling on a robe and going in the direction of the kitchen.

Steve was shirtless, just his pyjama pants and an apron on. Tony let himself appreciate the view.

Except. “Are you baking?” he asked incredulously. 

Steve looked up and grinned. “Apple pie,” he said proudly. “I thought I should try.”

Tony’s brain stopped working for a second. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever baked him a thing. Jarvis, for his birthdays, yes, but that was years ago, and when he died . . . 

Tony blinked a few times to clear his eyes. This was _nice_ , having a break down now would really be contrary to that.

“You’re ridiculous,” Tony declared finally. “Come here.”

He kissed Steve as soon as he was in his reach, pulling him down by the straps of his apron. Steve tasted like sugar, and the thought of him eating it by spoons was amusing, but not enough to stop kissing him. 

“Thank you,” Tony said between kisses, and Steve whispered something that sounded dangerously like _I’d do anything for you, Tony_ , and then Tony kissed him just to shut him up.

Steve was really unfairly hot, and it shouldn’t be turning Tony on how easily he was able to lift him up, place him on the table, how his movements were always lethally fluid even as he went down on his knees in front of Tony. 

So there were advantages of _not_ living with the whole team: no one to yell at them for having kitchen sex in the morning.

Even if the pie came out burnt for that. It was worth it.

Steve made a sad face as he pulled the scarred remnants of the pie out of the oven, this time clad in the apron and nothing else, the morning sun on bright on his face, and Tony thought, _god, I love this man_.

***

Tony thought he should be running, cut the ties before it would hurt too much (he’d been way past this point for _weeks_ ), but . . . 

Every morning he woke up next to Steve and saw Steve smile at him he was afraid a bit less.

Every time he remembered Steve saying _I like you, Tony_ , he trusted it a bit more.

Every night he woke up from nightmares, drenched in sweat, and Steve was there to hold him and calm him down and never ever judge him—Tony wanted to spend the rest of his life with that man.

He started to hope that maybe he wasn’t the only one.

Even if it ended—it would be worth it. But Tony really hoped this, finally, was the one thing that would last.

It’d been months now, and Steve hadn’t left. 

It’d been months, and Tony let himself be happy.

***

Tony was working in the lab in the New Avengers compound. It was just easier, he told himself, to stay there than to force Steve to move between two places. He deserved a steady home, so Tony could stay there. Being so close to Rhodey for the first time since MIT was nice too; Tony was glad he’d become an Avenger. This way, he could keep him safe.

Could keep them all safe, really.

So that the nightmare Wanda put into his head would never come true.

Tony shivered at the mere thought. He pushed it away. He was fine. He had Steve, he was happy.

Everything was fine.

He leant over the desk. His watch was there, disassembled, and Tony was perfecting the gauntlet hidden inside. There were situations where he couldn’t take his suit with him, but this . . . This would help. 

Steve liked the idea, when Tony showed him the prototype weeks ago.

Vision phased into the lab. Tony turned to him. “I asked you— _oh_ , you have coffee. Okay. Forgiven. Come here.”

Tony gratefully accepted the mug and inhaled. It was—

It tasted like the coffee in Tony’s lab in the Tower. In the Tower, where Jarvis had been operating everything, coffee express included.

That wasn’t surprising.

But Vision wasn’t Jarvis. Jarvis was gone. Tony’s fault.

“I have upset you,” Vision noticed. “I’m sorry. That was not my intention.”

Tony shook his head. He’s upset himself more than anything else. “You’re fine,” he said. “The coffee is _delicious_. I should employ you just to make the coffee. Forever.”

“I’m not sure it would work with my duties as an Avenger, Mister Stark.”

Tony sighed. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Yes, sir, but Captain Rogers—”

 _Good morning, sir_ , Tony remembered and bit on his lip sharply. “Actually, Mister Stark is fine, Vision. Don’t worry about that.”

When would he stop looking at him and seeing Jarvis?

Vision was so helpful, trying so hard to be _nice_ in the human version of the meaning, learning of their boundaries, accepting them. He deserved better than Tony looking for someone else in him every second.

Vision shifted on his feet. Huh. Tony wasn’t sure if he didn’t prefer it when he just floated. “Captain Rogers asked me to keep an eye on you when you’re working too long,” he explained finally. “I’d have come anyway, you’ve been in here for fifteen hours, but it occurred to me you might have wanted to know that, Mister Stark.”

Tony looked up at him, surprised. Vision was learning _fast_. It was only normal, of course, but . . . God, if the world knew there was an artificial intelligence being, walking among them, with the power of an infinity gem, no less—what would they do to him? Tony didn’t want to imagine that scenario.

“Thank you,” he said instead.

Vision nodded and left—careful to open the door this time.

Tony set the mug down and rubbed his eyes. Steve and Nat were tracking down Rumlow somewhere in Africa. They were in fairly regular contact, really.

Tony hadn’t expected Steve would ask anyone to take care of him. And he wanted to be mad—he was an adult, he didn’t need a babysitter—but mostly, he was just moved that Steve cared enough to ask, that Tony’s well-being was important to him.

“You do know honey-bear has a better track record with being my minder?” Tony sent off a quick text to Steve. There was no telling when he’d reply, but well.

His phone buzzed the next second. “Rhodey’s your friend, Tony; I know he’ll take care of you. But I’m not there, and I wanted to do something. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Tony sent before he talked himself out of it, but it was the truth of it.

He didn’t want to wake up from nightmares alone again.

He trusted Steve to keep him safe.

***

“Believe me, I have an appointment,” Tony snapped when someone tried to stop him outside of Pepper’s office. The guy must’ve done it out of habit, without even looking, because now he squeaked and muttered an apology and Tony felt bad.

“It’s fine.” Tony waved it off. “Seriously, don’t worry.”

He opened Pepper’s door and stopped in the doorway.

He hadn’t seen her since—since . . .

She looked good, but then, she always did. She seemed less tired than the last time he saw her (as if he needed more proof that he’d been bad for her), almost glowing, even though she was surrounded by stacks of paperwork.

“Hi, Miss Potts,” he said, carefully closing the door.

Pepper looked up at him, stood up. “Morning, Mister Stark.” She smiled, but didn’t walk closer to him, and he was glad. He wasn’t sure he could deal with hugging her just yet. “You look good, Tony.”

Tony bit off his instinctive reply—he always looked good. He knew he’d been a wreck for months after New York. Still was. And he came there to talk about the September Foundation, but he had known they wouldn’t talk just about work. It wasn’t how it worked.

“Well, you know what they say about Captain America,” he said finally.

She tilted her head. “You and Steve,” she said, half-question.

Tony couldn’t blame her for not believing him. Steve could have anyone. Why he settled on Tony . . . “It’s new,” he said, “and I didn’t know if I should tell you, or—but I’m happy.”

“I’m really glad.” Pepper sounded honest. “You deserve that.”

“How’re you doing?” Tony asked. 

Pepper sighed. “I miss my friend,” she said. “But I understand that you don’t want to talk more often.”

Tony immediately felt bad, but Pepper was shaking her head already. “It’s fine, Tony. Really. It’s as much my fault as it’s yours—and I want you to take however long you need.”

“I almost got you killed, Pepper—”

Pepper glared at him. “We’ve been over this, Tony. You _are_ a superhero. I learnt to accept that, now.”

But she hadn’t accepted it before, when it would’ve mattered—

Tony shook his head. “I can’t do that now,” he admitted. “Not yet.”

Pepper nods. “This is okay.”

Tony takes a few long breaths. “September Foundation,” he says finally. “That MIT talk I’d never gone to? This year, I have to.”

Pepper nodded, shifted slightly on her feet until she looked like the professional CEO she was. “I looked over our figures. You can certainly afford it.”

“I know that,” Tony said. “Did legal have something to say?”

“They’ll sign that Stark Industries won’t have any rights to any patents developed under the Foundation Grant, and therefore SI can’t be held liable for anything—”

“But we can give them lawyers,” Tony said.

Pepper sighed. “Yes, if the need occurs. But you and I both know we need this clause in the policy.”

Tony wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t trust in MIT students—but he knew the world. They might need more help than just money—and if it was necessary, he’d provide it too.

“I’ll email you the last details,” Pepper said.

Tony nodded. “I—it’s been nice seeing you,” he said, and he thought he wasn’t even lying.

“Yeah.” Pepper smiled at him, then got serious. “Tony?”

He had a sense of foreboding. “Yeah, Pep?”

She sighed. “The Foundation. I mean everything I have just said, Tony, I just—it’s _yours_. It’s your idea, it’s personally important to you, it’s—I will be the head, if you insist, but I don’t think I can give that opening speech.”

Tony swallowed. He nodded quickly. “Sure. I get it. You don’t—you don’t owe me anything, I know you’re busy, you—I’ll just go.”

It wasn’t like it was a big change. He didn’t have any issues giving speeches, come on, he was Tony Stark, he just—Pepper was wrong.

It wasn’t _his_ idea. It was _theirs_.

Or so he’d thought.

“Tony—”

“It’s okay, Pep, really.” He smiled at her, and he was aware it must’ve looked fake, but she didn’t comment.

“You’ll always be my best friend,” she said. “But I can’t do this.”

“Okay,” Tony repeated. And it was. It was. He just—needed a moment. “Take care,” he said.

“You too,” she answered sadly as he was leaving.

It _was_ okay, he kept telling himself. But it was something he hadn’t expected to have to do on his own, something important to him that he’d wished was important to someone else, too.

He made it to his car before he started shaking. 

Always alone, Iron Man.

And now he was being melodramatic.

***

Steve came back with a few cuts and bruises. This didn’t worry Tony, not really. He hated seeing Steve hurt, of course he did, but he knew Steve healed fast. The marks were already fading and they couldn’t have been serious to begin with.

It was that Steve embraced him, somehow making himself slower so that Tony was hugging him, the way Steve leant on him not quite physically, that was worrying. 

People shouldn’t rely on Tony for comfort. He always fucked up.

“No sign of Bucky?”

Steve shook his head mutely. Tony, rather uncertainly, ran his hand up and down Steve’s back. “Come on, then,” he said. “Dum-E missed you. I think he’s jealous you’ll find your BFF and find his metal arm better.”

Steve made a sound like a sob and Tony wanted to hit himself.

“Shit, sorry—”

Steve shook his head. “No, I just—Bucky would love him. We’d go to the Expo, try to imagine the future—and here I am, living now.” He raised his head, and even though he had a black eye and a split lip his smile was honest.

Howard’s Expo, Steve must’ve meant, but he clearly learnt not to mention him. 

“No flying cars though,” Tony said.

“No,” Steve agreed. “But your suit is way better.”

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” Tony said, steering Steve in the direction of his bedroom. 

“And here I thought it was out of patriotism,” Steve dead-panned. 

Tony glanced at him. He no longer looked like he was about to shatter at one wrong word, which was a relief. But he was still tired, disappointed, resigned.

“My offer still stands,” Tony said.

Steve looked at him questioningly.

“Bucky,” Tony said. “I can try and find him. No promises—he must be good at it, if he’s been eluding you—but I can try.”

“I can’t ask—”

“No no no, wrong!” Tony waved his finger at Steve. “Yes you can. You can ask me everything.” And Tony would say yes, probably, because it was increasingly obvious to him he’d get him the moon if it’d make Steve happy. “And really, the guy pulled you out of Potomac, it’s like I owe him something.”

Tony was ready to go to his lab now, but Steve had just come home from a mission, and had to be exhausted, and really, Tony should learn not to push himself on people quite so strongly.

“Tomorrow,” Tony said after a pause. “Now you sleep.”

He pushed Steve into his bedroom, and watched Steve look around uncertainly. “Here?”

Tony wasn’t sure either why Steve came to the mansion and not to the New Avengers compound where he lived—but he was glad. He liked the proof Steve was safe. 

“Yes here, you came here,” Tony said. “God, you’re crashing. It’s adorable.”

He pulled Steve’s t-shirt up and hissed. Steve’s rib cage was covered in bruises. How had he let Tony even touch him? It looked painful. 

Steve seemed to wake up a bit at that. “It’s nothing,” he said. “We ran into some of the old Hydra, it’s really nothing.”

Tony touched Steve’s lowest rib with his fingertips. The flesh was swollen, but Steve didn’t even tense. “Have you gone through medical?” Tony demanded. “Your ribs are okay? No internal bleeding?” He could scan Steve in his lab, if need be.

“Yes,” Steve said. “I have a healing factor, remember? I’m fine. Sorry, I didn’t want to worry you. I missed you.”

Tony inhaled shakily, closed his eyes briefly.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Me too.”

Steve pressed a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “And I’m really tired now,” he said.

“I can see that,” Tony said. Steve’s words started slurring together again. He’d have to shower in the morning. With Tony. 

His plans settled, Tony gently pushed Steve to bed. Steve sprawled across the mattress, but he opened one eye to look back up at Tony. “You?” he said.

Tony smiled. “Going,” he said, stripping off his t-shirt. Steve was always so hot, pyjamas really became a thing of the past. Tony slowly lied down next to Steve. Steve hummed contently, and then wrapped himself like an octopus—Tony should go through Erskine’s files, because he was could swear Steve grew additional limbs when he wanted to cuddle—and was out like a light.

Tony lied in his embrace, awake for a long time.

He wanted to stay like this with Steve forever, but he couldn’t stop thinking _it wouldn’t last_.

Because it never did. 

He could enjoy Steve’s closeness for now though. 

***

Steve was very pale and very still, blood trailing down from his mouth to his chin. His breathing was shallow. Tony didn’t have the suit to read his vitals, but he was afraid he didn’t need it anyway.

He failed everyone, and Steve most of all.

Behind Tony, Ultron stood up.

Tony knew it without looking. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Steve’s face.

“You could’ve saved us,” Steve whispered with his dying breath.

***

Tony jolted awake. Something was pressing him down, and for a second he wanted to fight, but—the air felt safe.

It was Steve. Alive and well, just next to Tony. And Tony had been woken up by a nightmare—and not even a new one, courtesy of Wanda. He didn’t even blame her—he’d send himself nightmares, if he could. But the image of Steve dying because of Tony wouldn’t leave him.

He forced himself to breathe deeply, calmly. In and out, in and out. He didn’t want to wake Steve up. He needed the rest. And Tony had gotten good at breathing exercises; the arc reactor had saved his heart, but had really fucked up Tony’s lungs. Small price to pay for being alive, even if every day Tony remembered Yinsen, and no matter how hard he was trying to live up to his expectations, he knew, he _knew_ he wasn’t.

But he met Steve, and learnt to see _Steve_ , and not the man Howard kept talking about.

Tony sighed, then snuggled closer to Steve. Steve didn’t even stir. He really must’ve been dead on his feet the previous night. Or he trusted Tony, to sleep so deeply next to him. This was a nice thought, Tony decided.

He didn’t want to go back to sleep himself—enough nightmares for one night, thank you very much, but he could do something useful. How best to locate a Soviet assassin who might or might not remember he’s not in fact an assassin? Let’s start that project, Tony thought.

By the time Steve woke up next to him, Tony had a few ideas. 

Steve smiled at Tony sleepily, pulled him closer, and pressed a sloppy kiss to his lips. 

Tony grinned, lying atop Steve, kissing him back.

Ideas definitely could wait.

***

“So,” Tony said when they finally got out of bed, over an hour later. “There should be ways to track him. There are already text analysing low-level AIs—I could improve some and set it on these SHIELD documents Nat had released. I probably should’ve done that immediately, but—Ultron.” And Tony didn’t like to think about it, but he knew he’d been a mess in years following New York, and then, after Extremis . . . This was no excuse. He should’ve been there to help Steve. He should’ve checked the files.

“No,” Steve says, surprisingly loud. “Don’t.”

Tony looked at him sharply. “I won’t build _another_ Ultron, I learnt that lesson—” But it hurt that Steve didn’t trust him.

Steve shook his head. “God, Tony, that’s not it—I—” He sighed, set his head in his hands. “I trust you, okay. Ultron wasn’t your fault. But Bucky—it’s on me. He obviously doesn’t want to be found. And—I can’t stop trying. I don’t know how to. But that’s me.” He worried at his lower lip. “Accepting someone else’s help . . .”

“So he’ll be less mad at you if you take years and show up alone, is that it?” Tony asked. _Bullshit_ , in his opinion. But Steve clearly really cared. “You aren’t objective here,” Tony said anyway.

Steve laughed. “No,” he said. “But he saved me—we would’ve heard if he’d hurt anyone else . . .”

“Or we wouldn’t,” Tony cut in. “He’s an assassin—”

“He was brainwashed!” Steve yelled.

Tony raised his hands flatly to placate him. “I’m not saying it’s _his_ fault, Steve,” he said. “Only that maybe finding him might be a matter of security.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s not,” he said. “I know him, Tony. If—if he was still a risk, he wouldn’t have saved me.” Steve took a deep breath. “And I know him, so I will find him. At some point. Maybe he’ll let me. Maybe he needs time. I did, after waking up in the future.”

Steve had this air about him—he was looking straight at Tony now, daring him to argue. And Tony knew that was it. He wouldn’t convince Steve. The only way would be going behind his back.

Tony didn’t want to do that. Not when he only picked up the topic _for_ Steve, not out of any fear for national security. If nothing else, Nat would’ve heard if Winter Soldier was really back. 

Tony didn’t want to argue with Steve over Bucky.

“Okay,” he said. “It was just a proposition anyway.” But it did illogically hurt that Steve hated it that much.

Steve nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “I should go back to the compound. I didn’t even tell them I was back.”

He didn’t ask if Tony wanted to go with him.

Tony nodded.

“Go,” he said. “I have some projects I need to work on anyway.”

Steve put their plates in the dishwasher, ever polite, and then leant down to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “See you,” he said.

Tony nodded, and went straight to his workshop. He didn’t look as Steve left.

***

Safe in his lab, Tony closed his eyes tight. He was shaking a bit.

Nothing happened. Nothing did, he told himself.

But he wasn’t sure if Steve was coming back. 

His phone chimed, and he glanced at it and saw a message from Steve. He didn’t read it. What else could it be but _I don’t want to see you anymore_? It was stupid, Steve wouldn’t—Steve would talk to him first, but Tony couldn’t help the irrational fear. If it was truly important, Avengers important, Steve would’ve called anyway. Or Friday would tell him.

Tony longed for a drink, but he had to be sober for this. 

The MIT presentation was getting closer, and Tony obviously had a lot of tech he could present—he’d done some serious progress on prosthetics, for example. But this one—well, this one was personal, and he thought maybe he owed it to the students to be honest.

He opened the BARF files. 

At some point, he’d have to get it approved by medical board—or Pepper would. If she still wanted to be involved with the grant when she heard about this idea. Tony still didn’t quite understand how she was okay with working with Tony after everything. She was just too good.

For now, though, he needed to get it to the working order.

“Friday, helmet,” he called.

“Going, boss.”

In the future, he wanted to hide the necessary technology in glasses, but for his own personal tests, using the Iron Man helmet was simply easier. 

There were a lot of things giving him nightmares. 

But he couldn’t do anything about Yinsen, and Steve, well, Steve was still alive despite all the mistakes Tony had made.

Tony pressed the electrodes to his temples and nape of his neck, and pulled on the helmet. 

“Protocol BARF,” he said. The familiar by now headache settled behind his eyes. 

And then he was twenty again, and his mum was singing. Tony wanted to get up and hug her. Tell her everything. He missed her so much. Every day. He really fucking missed her. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, even in this virtual reality generated from his own memories.

He just followed the well-known steps. His dad was always a jerk, and Tony could now see why, but . . . 

“Goodbye, Tony,” mum pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

Tony took a step back, another, snapped, “BARF, end.”

He fell to his knees, breathing heavily. Yeah. He was handling this just fine.

But he saw no other way to learn to live with this. So he would keep trying. And one day—one day maybe his device would help others.

He missed his mum.

 _What are you, twelve_ , he scolded himself. He wiped at his eyes. His head hurt a lot. He was hot, and he felt sick. Damn, he’d need to find a way to minimise the after-effects—electromagnetic migraines were not fun. 

“Boss?” Friday asked. He winced at how loud she seemed.

He pulled the helmet off.

“That’s it for today,” Tony said. “Lab on lock-down, please; I don’t care who else has codes, revoke everyone’s but mine.”

He walked to the exit, unsteadily. He wanted a drink.

He learnt from that mistake, as well.

“And lock me out too if I’m drunk,” he said, and closed the door behind him. 

He grabbed a pair of painkillers and swallowed them with whisky. Anything to dull the pain.

He lay down on the sofa. “Friday, black out the windows,” he said. Light hurt. Moving hurt.

The alcohol and painkillers didn’t knock him out, unfortunately, so he lied there, his forearm pressed into his eyes, until he was ready to stand up again.

It took a long time.

Pathetic, he thought. That’s why Pepper didn’t want him, and now, Steve. He was pathetic. 

***

His phone rang, waking him up, and he glanced at the screen and saw Ross. He winced, but he couldn’t afford to reject it.

“General,” he said.

“Mister Stark,” Ross said. “You should get a package, as we agreed.”

Tony paled. He knew what it was. “Thank you, general.”

He finished the call just as his doorbell rang. He took his time going downstairs. He wished something would happen—anything, a new supervillain as an excuse to suit up . . . Except he didn’t do that anymore. And there was nothing saving him from opening the door and accepting the package. 

He grabbed a bottle of whiskey on his way back to his office. He would need that.

The documents, when he finally pulled them out of the envelope, were so unassuming. An unnamed white book. 

Tony couldn’t make himself open it without drinking first.

A draft of a proposal to make the Avengers into an organised, overseen force, facing consequences.

Tony knew how it would end . . . but he still hoped he’d manage to stop it before it went any further. Stop it, or at least make it into something they could all agree on.

The bottle had been empty by the time he finished reading.

Even inebriated as he was, he couldn’t stop thinking that the others would never agree. He had to fix it. He could lobby, he could talk to politicians; there were reasons why he wasn’t an active combatant anymore, he could turn heads and change the documents, _he could fix it_.

He had to.

But the truly difficult part was—he couldn’t make it go away. He didn’t want to. They needed responsibility. So after fixing what he could—he had to talk to the Avengers, people who should be his friends, and who would hate everything he would say.

Tony had known it was coming, and he wasn’t ready.

But if he didn’t do this, if the next war struck them before the law was settled—if the sky opened and aliens came, ready to kill—Wanda’s visions would be proven right.

Everyone would have died, even though Tony could’ve saved them.

“Friday, new folder, Superhero Registration Alpha. Scan the documents, make a copy for edits. Save it on my private server. Access by me only.”

He couldn’t tell anyone before he was ready.

He’d start on his changes as soon as he sobered up.

God, he missed Steve.

***

Tony didn’t really want to do it, but he had new wrist weapons for Nat, and he wanted to take a look at the compound’s training room; he hadn’t seen it in a few weeks, and he knew how Steve trained his team. They might need some fixes.

He hated driving slowly, but he couldn’t bring himself to go faster. Not when he was pretty sure Steve would turn back at his sight.

But even going under the speed limit, the road couldn’t take forever, and finally he pulled over at the New Avengers facility.

He missed it, he realised with a pang. He’d—he’d almost felt like at home there, before.

Slower still, he walked out of the car.

Then he blinked, because Steve was running out of the door, in his direction.

“Tony!” Steve called. “Tony, you came.” His voice was unnaturally high.

“Well, I am still responsible for your tech, so—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted. “I—oh god. You haven’t read my message, have you.”

Tony thought back to the text he’d received and shook his head.

“Why—no, that’s not important, I should’ve called. I’m sorry.”

Tony tilted his head. “You’re not breaking up with me?” He almost winced; he wasn’t sure what they’d had warranted a _break up_.

Steve paled. Then he turned back, looked at the compound. Tony followed his gaze to saw his friends—teammates—friends plastered to the windows.

“Let’s take a walk,” Steve suggested, and Tony shrugged.

There was a lot of terrain around, so for a while they just walked in silence. Tony didn’t look at Steve, instead looking at his own feet, suit shoes on grass, his tailor wouldn’t be happy.

Then, Steve turned to Tony, his expression earnest. “I thought you were angry at me,” he said.

“Okay, what gave you the impression, the blow job in the morning or pancakes I fried? It was the pancakes, right, this is why I don’t cook—”

“I refused your help,” Steve said, seriously. “Tony. It’s not about _you_. I appreciate the offer. But I can’t—”

“I know,” Tony interrupted him, because he didn’t actually want to hear it again. “I know. That’s why—” Steve was honest, so Tony could be, too. “I thought you were mad at me,” he said, “for pushing, and—” 

Steve was shaking his head, so Tony stopped talking. It was a while before Steve spoke up, and he looked like he was picking his words carefully. “I appreciated the offer,” he repeated. Then he looked into Tony’s eyes. “But, Tony, you—I know you care about me, okay? I know that. You don’t have to do all these amazing things to show it. I’m yours. Already.”

Tony couldn’t breathe.

“And I’m sorry—I realised too late how it might’ve looked to you, and I—Tony?”

“You’re ridiculously perfect, Rogers,” Tony said, “maybe Erskine’s formula was just water, placebo, because you clearly just _are_ perfect.”

Steve flushed. He looked adorable. “There’s something else,” he said.

Tony felt a sudden dread. He should’ve known this conversation was going too well. “What is it?” he asked.

“Read that text I sent you.”

For a moment, Tony just looked at Steve—his shoulders squared, his eyes set on Tony even though his hands were fidgeting at his sides.

Tony pulled out his Starkphone, opened the messages app, and almost dropped the phone.

 _Thank you. I love you_.

He looks back at Steve. 

“So,” Steve said. “That.”

“That,” Tony repeated. Then, “Fucking seriously, Steve, _a text_?”

“I didn’t realise,” Steve said. “I—it was so obvious to me, I was so sure I’d said it before, the text was only natural, and then—”

“No,” Tony said very slowly. “You never said that.”

Steve shrugged, smiled. He carefully extended his hand in Tony’s direction, covered Tony’s palm still holding the phone with his own, pushed it down. He kept their hands touching like that as his eyes bore into Tony’s.

“I love you, Tony Stark,” he said, simple and honest, and too beautiful to be true.

Tony opened his mouth, didn’t find any words, so he stepped into Steve’s space and kissed him for all he was worth.

***

Steve kept visiting him. They kept going on dates. Hugging was nice, kissing was better, and sex was awesome, and Tony—Tony was happy. He let himself believe it’d last.

It was Steve. It was probably impossible for him to disappoint anyone.

“Apple pie, you’ll be late,” Tony said one morning, still stretched languidly on Steve’s bed. 

He’s stayed with Steve every night for the last week. He rather thought he’d like it forever.

“Mm, just a moment, Shellhead,” Steve called from the bathroom.

He walked out a moment later, a towel wrapped around his hips but otherwise naked. Water was dripping down from his hair, running down his body, over his chest and stomach—Tony licked his lips involuntarily. 

Steve knew exactly what he was doing.

“Look, you can’t count on _me_ being responsible,” Tony warned.

Steve stretched. The towel slid off his hips, to the ground.

“Fuck,” Tony said. 

No matter how many times he saw Steve naked, it was never enough.

Steve smiled at him. “You were saying?”

“You have an interview,” Tony gulped.

“I postponed it last night,” Steve said, walking in Tony’s direction. Tony forced himself to stay still. “Sam took Wanda and Vision to show them Coney Island. Rhodey and Nat are training together off-site.”

Tony felt a smile spreading on his lips. “So what you’re saying is, the kids are gone?”

Steve laughed. “Something like that, yes.”

“You’re a menace,” Tony declares. “Please use your powers for evil like that more often.”

“Evil?” Steve repeated, leaning in to give Tony a kiss.

“I corrupted a national icon, that’s probably evil?” Tony offered before pulling him down again. Steve went willingly, and when Tony urged him down, he lied next to him, still covered in water droplets.

Tony considered sweet drinks and filed it for next time, leaning down to lick a stripe over Steve’s stomach. He felt Steve’s muscles tensing as he tried to keep still, and grinned against his skin. 

“There’s a cake downstairs,” Steve said. “I wanted to cook, but—”

“You’re talking about food _now_?” Tony asked, as if he hadn’t just been considering Steve and chocolate sauce.

“I wanted it to be nice,” Steve said. “It’s—we met four years ago.”

“Oh,” Tony said, softly. “That’s—that’s a good date.”

“It is,” Steve agreed, and kissed Tony again, gentle, as if he was scared of breaking him. Tony wanted to say he wasn’t made of glass, but really, it was too nice to protest. 

Steve kept pressing small kisses to Tony’s jaw, neck, collarbones—to Tony’s chest, right where the arc reactor used to be.

It took Tony a moment to notice he hadn’t tensed, and the realisation was like the best surprise ever. He’d had the arc reactor removed for many reasons—but he’d never quite managed to forget how vulnerable it had made him.

Until Steve, apparently.

“Thank you,” he said, stupidly, and Steve just smiled and continued.

“I love you,” Steve whispered against Tony’s skin, and Tony writhed, for a while forgetting all conscious thought.

***

“So, I’ve been working,” Tony said. He put his hands in his trousers pockets and willed himself to stay still. The project was important. It could save people. Tony had already discussed it with Stark Industries engineers.

Telling Steve was different, though. Steve cared and he could see right through Tony.

“Go on,” Steve said. His posture was carefully open, encouraging even.

Tony shouldn’t be so worried about it.

“I have nightmares,” he said, and then laughed drily. “You know better than anyone, you’ve woken me up often enough. But. I tried—well, I tried to fix it.”

Steve raised his eyebrows.

Okay, Tony couldn’t stay still. He started talking around as he talked, “It’s highly experimental, and very expensive, but there’s—there’s a lot of trauma I still haven’t processed, and obviously getting myself beaten up when in the suit wasn’t a viable therapeutic method—” _Shut up_ , he thought, “-so, this. Hijacking my hippocampus to project my own memories. Work through them.” He accented it with a light tap at his forehead.

He very steadily did not meet Steve’s eyes.

Steve didn’t say anything for a while, and then it wasn’t the question Tony expected. “Is that why you had so many headaches lately?” he asked.

Tony froze. “I—”

“Tony.”

Tony finally looked at Steve, and Steve’s expression broke his heart. Tony was sure Steve would be angry at him—not worried.

“Yes,” he said, quietly. “But it’s important, and—god, Steve, I told you before. I can’t sleep. If I can fix this—”

“Fix _your brain_ ,” Steve cut in, and okay, now he seemed annoyed.

“I tried therapy,” Tony snapped. “It didn’t work.” 

Steve bit on his lip, and Tony could see he was trying not to argue. Then, Steve said, “ _Is_ it helping?”

Tony looked away. “Might be. I don’t know. Too soon to tell?”

“Tony—”

Tony couldn’t face Steve’s disappointment even here, on this topic, and moreover . . . “The science behind it is sound, Steve. But it has to be tested. And—well, it’s my tech. I believe it will help me, and when it does, I can safely release it to help other people. _It’s important_.”

Steve looked like he wanted to argue some more . . . And then he nodded. “Okay, Tony,” he said.

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”

Steve sighed, stepped closer to Tony. Tony leant into his body immediately. Steve was warm, and as he set his hands on both sides of Tony’s head, Tony almost thought his headache was disappearing. 

“I’m not happy about it,” Steve said after a while. “Not that you’re doing it—you’re right, it’s important. For others _and_ for you. The _for you_ part would be enough, Tony, you don’t have to keep convincing me.”

“Then?” Tony asked. He didn’t understand.

Steve pulled him just a bit closer still. “I hate that you’re hurting yourself in the process,” he whispered. “I hate seeing you in pain, Tony, knowing there’s nothing I can do to help—”

“You’re helping.” Tony interjected. “You’re here—you didn’t dump me yet—you’re stroking my hair right now. It’s all helping.”

“You didn’t seriously think I would dump you over that,” Steve said.

Tony pretended not to hear him. “You are helping,” he repeated.

“I will never leave you,” Steve whispered into his ear, quiet and yet determined; and Tony could just believe him in that moment. They kissed, sweetly, slowly, and Tony had always known he’d be okay with however long this lasted—but now, now he thought he wanted Steve at his side, next to him, in his arms, _always_. 

He really ridiculously loved him. He should be scared—and yet he wasn’t. It was Steve. He wouldn’t hurt Tony.

(Another thing, the one he was scared of more than he feared the deep space? 

The logical conclusion was that it would be Tony who hurt Steve, at some point, in the future, and yet inevitably).

“Stop overthinking this,” Steve whispered, and kissed Tony again, slowly.

Everything was good. Everything was perfect. Tony didn’t have much experience living his life when nothing was tearing apart, but he thought he could get used to it. He kissed Steve again, and then just stood in his loose embrace.

“I’ll be getting migraines for a while,” Tony said. “I don’t like the perspective.” He was sick at the perspective, really, but he couldn’t deal with his dreams, with his guilt, with his whole fucking brain. He only knew how to fix machines. “But I believe it will help.”

Steve nodded, still holding Tony close. “Then, Tony, I will be here with you. As long as you believe in what you’re doing—you can count on me.”

Tony closed his eyes and clung to Steve.

***

Tony slowly drifted back to being awake. He’d been quite happy asleep—every night with no nightmares deserved to be treasured—and aside from that, he was pleasantly warm, wrapped in soft blankets. If he woke up, he’d have to get up, and he didn’t want that.

Maybe he could take a day off . . . Somehow, even still half-asleep, he realised how ridiculous that concept was.

Headache slowly registered, and he moaned, pressed his fingers into his temples. It was more manageable than yesterday, but it was still bad. He closed his eyes for a moment, bit on his lower lip, and sat up. Okay, first plan of the day: _find painkillers_. And then he should work on the BARF some more and finally get all the paperwork approved for the MIT speech. He was pretty sure he was getting a second headache just for thinking about this.

He opened his eyes, and squinted against the light. Steve had left the curtains pulled, but for some reason the bedroom door was open, and the light from the corridor filtered in. Tony frowned. Corridor? But they were at the mansion and . . . 

_Ah_. Memories from the last evening finally came back to him. Nat had returned from a mission, and Steve had to go see her. Tony’s migraine had been all but unmanageable at that point, but he’d insisted on coming with Steve. He hadn’t wanted to be alone.

He sighed. Right now, he almost regretted his decision—but then he smelt something delicious in the air, and got up without really registering it.

So that was why the door was open, he thought, running his hands through his hair as he went to the kitchen. 

“I love whoever did this,” he said, walking in, aiming straight for the coffee jar. 

“You’re lucky it _was_ Steve,” Nat said, clearly amused. Tony didn’t pay her any attention until he poured himself a mug and downed it in one go. Then Steve wrapped his arms around Tony from behind and nuzzled at his cheek. “Feeling better?” he asked quietly.

Tony shrugged. “I’ll be fine,” he said.

“Sure,” Steve said, pushing two pills in Tony’s hand. Tony swallowed them dry, too grateful for painkillers to look around for water. 

Steve didn’t comment, just hugged him tighter for a second before letting go. “I made pancakes.”

“Wow, Nat, you’re lucky,” Tony said. “I only got burnt apple pie.”

“You didn’t have to distract me,” Steve reminded him. “And anyway, the pancakes are for you.”

“I ate before,” Nat confirmed. 

Tony finally looked at her, closely. She was smiling and looked relaxed, he didn’t think she was in any pain. Sure, Nat _could_ act, but he liked to think she didn’t have to, not with them. “How’re you?” he asked finally.

“Better than you, by the looks of it,” she said, but with no heat. “I got some bruises, all but gone.”

Tony nodded. “Let me know if you need any upgrades,” he said seriously. “I could—”

“Thanks, Tony. My gear is already perfect.” She smiled at him.

He felt himself smiling back. “Still,” he insisted. 

“I’ll let you know if I think of something,” she said with a nod. He sat at the table next to her, and soon after Steve passed him a a plate full of pancakes and another mug of coffee.

“You’re the best,” Tony said. 

“Pretty sure that’s you, Tony,” Steve said surprisingly softly. He sat on Tony’s other side, close enough their knees were touching. 

Tony smiled at him. He was still pretty tired and had a headache.

He was happy.

He started eating the pancakes, and realised he wanted to wake up like that every day. 

***

Tony signed the documents to secure the financing for the September Foundation. It still hurt a bit, doing it without Pepper, but the Foundation _was_ a good, important idea. It could help many kids, and Tony _was_ going to put it in life. Let there be something more than weapons in his heritage. 

Last night, Steve had asked him if he was sure he wanted to showcase BARF.

“I know it’s personal for you,” Steve had said, serious. “And it’s—a lot, to do it on stage.”

“Why not the newest Starkphone, you want to ask?” Tony had replied, shaking his head. “When you come down to it, what does another model of my phone mean? Sure, I love how tech can get you connected with everyone around the world. It’s very important, no matter if your family is trapped in war, or if you’re going on holidays. But the newest Starkphone doesn’t really change that. And BARF . . . That might change a lot.” Tony had paused. “It’s like you said. It’s _personal_. And it should be. It should be, because I don’t want to lie to these young people. They’re our future, Steve, and I want to inspire them. I want to show them what is important to me.”

Steve had nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer.

Tony was a superhero, but he knew that if he perfected this little therapeutic experiment, it could start helping _normal_ people. People his weapons hurt, people who were in New York when Loki attacked—but also car accident survivors, all the students battling their own mental issues. This meant more to Tony than he could explain, really. And it wasn’t ready for more than what he planned, a presentation—but it would show them there was a way. That they were supposed to go past the limits they saw. Change the world, only not like Tony had for most of his life, no. They were supposed to change the world _for the better_.

He hoped the September Foundation would really help them.

There were two weeks to go. Tony knew it was going to be the most important speech he’d ever given.

***

Tony was tinkering with Nat’s bracelets when he heard Steve calling him.

“Here!” he called back. 

Steve was supposed to be at the compound, but Tony was glad he came here for the night—or at least he hoped that was what Steve was doing now at the mansion way past the evening.

Tony set his tools down gently and swirled on his chair around in time to see Steve putting in the access code and walking into Tony’s workshop.

“Hey there,” Tony said.

“Hey,” Steve said, smiling. He ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Steve. You practically live here. You don’t have to call ahead.”

Steve tilted his head. “You sure it’s not you who practically live with me at the compound?” he asked cheekily.

Tony reached blindly for some paper and crumpled it in a ball to throw at Steve, who of course caught it, not taking his eyes off Tony.

“You’re excited,” Tony noted. 

“We think we can get Rumlow this time,” Steve said.

Tony deflated. Those were good news, but . . . “You’re leaving.” That wasn’t a question.

“Lagos, Nigeria,” Steve said. “Tomorrow.”

It wasn’t that Tony minded the Avengers going away—but every time, he wished he could be with them. 

Except he’d learnt his lesson about being Iron Man. He most often broke more things than he fixed. 

“Be careful,” Tony said. 

Steve smiled. “Always.”

Tony sighed. “It’s not the US,” he said, because he had to. “You are saving the world, but you know that after Sokovia, people are afraid. Mind that too.”

Steve nodded. “I will,” he promised. “Come here.”

Tony huffed a laugh, already standing up. He crossed the room to Steve, wrapped his arms around him and inhaled his smell. “I’ll miss you,” he muttered.

“You too,” Steve said quietly. “But I have to go.”

“I’m not convincing you to stay,” Tony said. “It’s important. He should be behind bars.”

But Rumlow was also a dangerous psycho with a personal grudge for Steve, and Tony couldn’t help but worry. He knew better than to tell Steve though. And the Avengers were a _great_ team. They’d all be fine.

“Did you come just to tell me that?” Tony asked, kissing the dip in Steve’s neck.

“Nah,” Steve said. “I wanted to spend the night with you.”

Steve probably _did_ mean just sleeping together, but Tony felt hot all over anyway. He leant up, kissed Steve, and didn’t protest as Steve backed him up against the wall, never breaking the kiss, running his tongue over Tony’s lips. 

“I have no problems with that,” Tony let out, and then Steve kissed him again.

They never made it to the bed.

***

When they finally showered and lied down together, Tony rolled on top of Steve, kissed him briefly. Steve put his hands on Tony’s waist and just held him like that.

He looked beautiful on Tony’s sheets, in the dim light, his hair still all mussed up. 

“I love you,” Tony said, and he’d never meant anything more in his life.

Steve’s eyes shot open. “You—”

“I love you,” Tony repeated, “god, Steve, I do.”

Steve caught his mouth in another kiss, hungry and deep. “I love you,” he said back moments later, even though Tony had already known that. “And—Tony, I’m getting back from Lagos and we’re taking vacation somewhere, just you and me—”

“Yes, sure,” Tony said, and kissed Steve again, and again, and again. 

He loved him, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him.

He wasn’t even scared.

***

“Boss, you want to see this,” Friday said. 

“Huh?” Tony raised his head from poking at the watch gauntlet. Friday turned his screens to major world news stations, and Tony blanched.

“ _Fuck_.” He swallowed. “Is Steve fine? Is— _fuck_ , Friday, give me the suit—”

His phone rang at this moment, and he cursed again as _Secretary Ross_ showed up for his caller ID. He took a deep breath before answering. 

“What the hell is that, Stark,” Ross barked.

“You do know I’m not an active combatant anymore, right,” Tony said, and smoothly continued into, “The Avengers will take the full responsibility—”

“Damn right you will,” Ross snapped. “The Accords—”

Tony’s brain was going into overdrive. He could see it all: the discussion that didn’t lead anywhere—Rhodey would agree, and so would Vision; Nat—Nat probably wouldn’t, and neither would Sam, Wanda was a wild card, and Steve—

Tony knew what Steve would think.

This could actually destroy the Avengers, no matter who signed what.

“How soon?” Tony asked.

“The committee is assembling as we’re speaking,” Ross said. 

_Soon_ , then. “Okay,” Tony said. “The Avengers are handling clean-up—” or so the news suggested.

“They aren’t handling _anything_. Get your friends back in the States, _now_.”

Tony took a deep breath. “Yes, sir,” he said. Ross hanged up.

Tony ran his hands through his hair. He wanted to fly to Lagos—he wanted to see for himself Steve was fine, everyone was fine, or as fine as they could be—but he knew it was a terrible idea. Especially with the Accords coming into play, now—the only thing they needed was Iron Man flying to Nigeria uninvited after the Avengers blew up a fucking hospital.

“Friday, I need Steve’s comms.” There was a crackle of static, and then Tony said, frantically, “ _Steve_ , are you—”

“Tony,” Steve said. He sounded exhausted. Broken.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked.

A beat. “Yes.”

That was a lie if Tony had ever heard one, but it meant Steve at least was physically fine. Tony couldn’t expect more. “Wanda? Everyone?”

“Alive,” Steve said.

“Okay.” Tony covered his eyes. “Okay. Listen, Steve, you need to get back.”

“We’re helping—”

“No,” Tony cut in. “It’s an international incident. It’s—let Sam scan it, Redwing can get through the walls—get people out if there’s anyone still alive there.” He swallowed. “But it didn’t look—”

“Don’t,” Steve asked, quietly.

Tony obediently didn’t finish that sentence, but there were things he _had to_ say. Important things. “Seriously, Steve, if there isn’t anyone you can pull out of the ruins, get on the Quinjet and come back _before_ Nigerian army decides to stop you.” Because they would; Tony was almost certain of it.

“We can’t leave them like that,” Steve said.

“Listen to me one damn time!” Tony snapped. “If there’s no one still alive in there, you’re not leaving _anyone_. Their own authorities can handle clean up.” And send the bill to Tony, probably. “You need to get back to US. Steve, please.”

He knew Steve felt responsible and wanted to help, but they were past goodwill signs. It was a fucking mess, and Tony needed the Avengers on American soil.

He could already feel headache setting in.

“Okay,” Steve said, finally. “Okay.”

Tony could cry with relief. “Thank you,” he said. He quickly calculated when they could arrive, and cursed. “Steve?”

“Something else?” Steve must’ve been really exhausted.

“I won’t be here when you arrive tonight,” Tony said. “I’m sorry, I have to handle Ross, and tomorrow morning I have to be at MIT—don’t say that, Steve, you don’t even realise what a disaster it is right now, the MIT talk has been planned for months, I can’t cancel it without it throwing bad light on the Avengers as well.” Tony rubbed his temples. Not that going would help, exactly, but cancelling what was—rightly—rumoured to be a start of scholarship programme . . . Not the kind of bad press he could afford right now. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, it’s a short flight; expect me at noon tomorrow.”

“I understand,” Steve said. “Just—take care, Tony.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “that’s your job right now, Steve. I’m perfectly safe. Just—get back home. Get some rest. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He wanted to say so many more—warn Steve, say he loved him. But he wasn’t sure what would be safe now. Ross was bound to look at them very carefully right now.

“Okay. See you then, Tony.”

“See you, Steve,” Tony replied, and dropped the connection.

Tony looked at the gauntlet he’d been assembling earlier and sighed. He’d need it right about now. 

Instead, he put on the prototype one—it worked, but it had a worse battery, lower power; enough for a short scuffle. Then he put his lab on lock-down and went to suit up.

Black silk, two-button, navy blue tie. The kind of armour facing Ross required. 

He sighed, and drove to see the Secretary General.

***

The MIT speech itself _wasn’t_ a complete disaster. Tony was good at this, he knew it, but he was honestly surprised he’d managed to focus on something that wasn’t the Lagos disaster for long enough to present the BARF to them. And the kids deserved the scholarship, he had to give them that; he regretted that he had to leave immediately. He’d very much like to talk to some of them. As it was, he had to go as soon as he finished.

The prompter showed him his next words, _and now I’d like to introduce the head of the foundation, Pepper Potts_ , and Tony blanched for a second. She’d warned him ages ago—why wasn’t this—

“Go break some eggs,” he said, smiled, and all but ran off the stage.

If Pepper had been with him, she could stay around, do all the positive PR she was so good at—but she wasn’t here. He really hadn’t needed the reminder. 

And he had to rush; Ross was waiting for him in New York and Tony was sure that if he didn’t get there fast, Ross _would_ go threaten the Avengers on his own. 

The headache from using BARF was already setting in, and so he almost didn’t notice the woman at the elevator at first.

Of course, worst wounds are the ones you don’t see coming.

“You think you fight for us? You just fight for yourself.”

Steve had told him that already. Tony had thought he’d changed, and yet . . . 

She was right. He could spend money on foundations all he liked. It wouldn’t wash the blood off his hands.

“He’s dead,” Miriam Spencer said finally, “and I blame you.”

The worst thing was: she was right to.

***

Ross’ meeting with the Avengers went about as bad as it could’ve. The worst part, Tony thought, were Steve’s eyes, trained on him, asking silently, _Did you know about this_?

And it’s not as if Tony could’ve lied.

He was supposed to be ready, to have a version of the Accords that they, that Steve could accept. It was Tony’s fault they were at each other’s throats already.

He swallowed a few painkillers, trying to lessen his migraine, as if it ever worked, after he used the BARF. His vision was spotty, but he couldn’t allow himself weakness, not here. He wanted to down the pills with whiskey, really, but then Steve would be disappointed—as if he wasn’t already—and Tony didn’t think he could deal with it.

They all needed to listen to him, and they wouldn’t.

“How long, Tony?” Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. “It was coming for a long time.” There was no point sugar-coating it. He might’ve only gotten the actual Accords on his desk a few weeks ago, but the idea wasn’t new. He should’ve prepared better.

“Damn it, Tony!” Steve punched the table. “We’re supposed to be teammates, you should tell us—”

“I’m not an Avenger, Steve,” Tony interrupted, “but if you see a better candidate here to keep US senators off our asses, go ahead and tell me—”

“Guys,” Natasha interrupted. “The last thing we should do here is fight ourselves.”

“The last thing we should be doing is _hiding things_ ,” Steve snapped.

Tony let his head hang low. He was queasy. He didn’t want any of it. “I was trying to help,” he muttered.

“And how splendidly it worked out,” Sam commented.

Steve’s phone chimed. He frowned, reaching for it. Tony knew he didn’t have many friends outside of this room—he helped Sam at the veteran centre, sometimes, but he was still lonely in this century, and it broke Tony’s heart sometimes. Steve’s eyes widened as he read the text, his face going ashen. He pocketed the phone and went out without a word of explanation, without so much as a glance in Tony’s direction.

***

Tony hesitated only for a second. Steve’s face had shown that whatever it was he’d read—it was serious. Without looking at the rest of the Avengers, Tony darted out of the room, after Steve. He hoped Steve hadn’t actually run away—but no, he was just at the bottom of the stairs, staring at his phone screen with a stricken expression.

“Steve?” Tony asked carefully.

“I can’t take a break now?” Steve snapped. The phone he was holding dangerously cracked.

Tony raised his hands placatingly. “No, it’s—I’m worried about you.” Ever since Lagos, and god, this, now, was the first time they’d been alone since. 

Tony wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug Steve, but Steve looked like he was about to shatter. 

Steve deflated at Tony’s words. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry.” It was somehow worse than his first aggressive reaction. Then he just pushed the phone at Tony, quickly, as if it started to burn him. Tony barely managed to grab the phone without dropping it, and then he read the text.

And reread it.

 _Who the fuck texted him like that_? _,_ he thought, but that wasn’t important. Steve’s face was screwed, and his eyes closed tight, and—

“Shh,” Tony said, pushing the phone in his pocket and putting his arm around Steve carefully. He urged him forward, behind the nearest door—another grey, cold conference room, but this one offered them some privacy. Tony locked the door—certainly useful in a home with android able to go through walls, ex-assassin who could probably pick any lock, and a magic user able to move items with her mind. 

Then, finally, Tony turned his full attention to Steve, gathered him in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“She was—she was the only person I still knew when I woke up here,” Steve let out, and then he shuddered, dug his fingers in Tony’s arms—it almost hurt, but Tony certainly wasn’t about to protest—and pressed his face into Tony’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Tony said soothingly, running his hands over Steve’s back, and Steve just shook his head and cried. 

Tony wasn’t good at keeping quiet, but he realised Steve didn’t need his incessant babbling now. He forced himself to keep his mouth shut, and just held Steve close, trying to console him somehow. He was always good at picking impossible tasks.

(He was always good at failing, he thought, as Steve kept breaking apart in his arms.)

***

Steve didn’t really look any better than just moments after reading that text, but he’d kept himself more or less composed since. Tony, in a show of hypocrisy, realised it wasn’t exactly healthy for him, but he didn’t want to push. He just watched Steve walking around the compound like a ghost.

“I never knew her,” Tony said finally.

Steve turned to him. “Not at all?” he asked. “Howard and her seemed friendly.” He almost smiled. Tony could see there was a story there, but this wasn’t the right moment to ask.

“They had a falling out,” he said. “Before I was born. I hadn’t even known about SHIELD for a long time.” Tony considered. “Which, dad was a dick. I’m not surprised she got fed up with him. I never understood how Mum got along with him.”

Steve stepped closer to Tony, and Tony immediately linked their arms. Physical comfort grounded both of them. 

“He seems to have changed a lot from the man I remember,” Steve said slowly. “And Peggy—she rarely was quite here . . .” He trailed off.

Tony petted his arm sympathetically. Steve seemed to react to physical comfort better now, at least. “The funeral is in two days,” Tony said. He hated to remind Steve of it, but someone had to say it.

Steve tensed. “Yeah. I’m flying tomorrow.”

“I know,” Tony said. “This is why—Steve, I can come with you.”

Steve looked at him, hopeful, for a moment. “You don’t have to,” he said.

“ _I can_ ,” Tony said, because this was important. He knew Sam was going, but . . . He wanted to make sure Steve was okay. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispered, pulling Tony to himself and clinging to him, tight. Then he straightened, sharp. “Ratification of the Accords—”

“I’m not going anyway, I’m not an active Avenger,” Tony said immediately. It didn’t change the fact that he _had_ signed the documents. 

Steve shook his head. “That’s not it,” he said. “I won’t sign.”

Tony looked at him closely, and then stepped away. “Did you—did you seriously think I wanted to go to Peggy’s funeral with you to keep convincing you to sign the Accords?” he spat, suddenly hurt.

Steve wasn’t looking at him. “I don’t know, Tony,” he said. “I—I want you to come. I love you. I’ll feel better. But the Accords—it’s obvious we won’t agree. And I feel like they’re pulling us apart.”

 _Well, you’re not wrong_ , Tony wanted to say and didn’t.

“Fuck the Accords,” Tony said. “I love you, and someone very important to you has just died. Why is it so unimaginable I want to be there to _support you_? And I’m sure you’d do the same for me.”

Steve looked down. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “All of that—I’m so lost.”

Tony could understand that. But that still hurt. Still, he meant what he said. “So?” he asked. “Do you want me to come, or?”

“You’re still offering?” Steve asked, smiled weakly. “Yes, Tony. I want you to be with me. Thank you.”

They hugged each other again, but shorter this time; Tony couldn’t get Steve’s accusation out of his head and he knew the Accords _would_ break them, and—he had thought, if everything else failed, that he’d have Steve.

But Steve started doubting him already.

“We should sleep,” Tony said finally. “Do you even get jet lag?”

Steve laughed. “No. But we’re both tired.”

They’d been sharing one bed for what felt like ages now—except now Tony carefully lied on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch Steve accidentally.

He slept fitfully, and every time he actually fell asleep, he was woken up with nightmares.

In the morning, he felt like he hadn’t slept at all. But when he turned to Steve, Steve smiled at him.

“You stayed,” Steve said. “Thank you. And I’m really—”

“Uh-uh, no apologizing, Cap,” Tony said. “We’re fine.” _I love you. I’ll stay with you._

Steve looked grateful. “So we should get going?”

Tony shrugged. “It’s my private plane, but even that isn’t yet Tardis, so yeah.” He tilted his head. “And we’re watching Doctor Who when we’re back.”

Steve laughed at that, quietly, but laughed, and Tony considered that a success. 

He moved to get up, but Steve grabbed his wrist, not very strong, but just stop him. Tony looked at him questioningly.

“Nothing,” Steve answered, “just . . .” He hugged Tony, tight, almost to the point of pain. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, Tony,” Steve whispered.

“And I’ll always be,” Tony said, not sure of that at all.

***

Tony was watching Steve’s face. The funeral itself didn’t have any emotional attachment for him, he was there for Steve, and Steve—well, Steve sat next to Tony, his face blank, unchanging; the same empty expression he’d worn when carrying the coffin. 

Tony was worried.

Steve was never overly emotional, at least externally, but it couldn’t be good that he closed himself off so completely. Tony knew a thing or two about that. But he couldn’t do anything, just sit next to Steve and hope Steve had some comfort from his presence. It wasn’t as if he could offer more, anyway; their relationship wasn’t public, and the funeral of Margaret Carter would be one hell of an occasion to out themselves. Tony wasn’t going to do that to Steve.

At some point, Steve flinched, his eyes going wide for less than a second before he composed himself. Tony mentally rewound the last proceedings and understood. _Sharon Carter_. The agent that Fury had assigned to follow Steve around.

Tony turned around, looked at Sam questioningly, but Sam just shrugged and shook his head. He looked as worried as Tony was. 

Tony spent the rest of the service observing Steve even more carefully, but there was nothing that could help him guess what was happening in Steve’s head. Rhodey would tell him to _just ask_ , but Tony had never been good at that. 

Finally, as the service ended, Steve grabbed Tony’s hand and held it tight for a long moment before getting up. Tony followed him close.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Steve nodded stiffly. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Tony could understand that. Just as they reached the door, though, Nat came out of the shadows. Tony sighed inwardly. 

“Nat, it’s—”

“I know,” she interrupted him gently, and then looked at Steve. “Tony isn’t here for the Accords and neither am I.”

Steve nodded. “Then why?”

“I thought you’d need a friend.” Nat looked at Tony and behind him, at Sam, and corrected herself. “As many friends as you can get.”

Steve’s smile was a fragile thing, ready to break, but he hugged her close. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Tony looked away. This was private—but he was very glad Steve had all these friends to rely on. He needed people. He was so lonely and so hell-bent on not showing it. 

Finally, Nat stepped away from Steve. “So, I’m going to Vienna.” She shot an asking look at Tony, but Tony just shook his head. He wasn’t an active Avenger anymore, he wasn’t even invited. He could go—maybe he _should_ —but he couldn’t leave Steve now.

Nat walked closer to Tony to hug him too. He held her a bit longer. “Good luck,” he whispered. “Thanks for coming.”

She nodded, and walked away.

Tony looked at Steve. He turned away, looked at the picture of Peggy set in the church one more time, and walked away. 

Tony and Sam both followed him out of the church. It was still chilly, but at least it wasn’t raining. Tony wanted to put his arm around Steve, but they _were_ in public, and he hated it, the inability to reach out and comfort Steve the way he wanted to.

***

“Hey,” Sam caught Tony by his arm. “Let them talk.”

Tony glanced at Steve and Sharon. He wasn’t jealous, he just . . . He worried about Steve, still. _He’s not a kid_ , he chastised himself, and nodded at Sam. “Drinks on me, then,” he offered, and they went to the bar, leaving Steve and Sharon to their memories.

“You’re still for the Accords?” Sam asked.

Tony winced. “Really, Sam? Now?”

Sam looked serious. “Now.” Something was off about him.

“Yes, Sam, I am,” Tony snapped. What—

Sam got up and left, quick paced; Tony looked after him. That was . . . Weird. Sam was usually nice to him. They both cared for Steve a lot, in different ways, and it’d helped them bond—

His thoughts still around Steve as they were, it hit Tony too late, and then his phone was ringing, the caller ID showing Ross. He finally registered the TV in the bar, _Attack in Vienna_ in bright red letters across it.

It wasn’t quite like Lagos, this time, seeing the explosion. Now, Steve was safe, the team was safe—and Tony worried, but he trusted Nat to take care of herself. But the repercussions of a planned attack on UN were something else already. Tony’s brain started spinning the scenarios for him, none of them welcome.

Tony’s phone kept ringing. He cursed, picked it up. “Yes, sir?”

“The Special Forces will go after him. Do not interfere,” Ross said curtly. _Him_? Tony wanted to ask, but somehow he knew the answer even before the speaker on TV got to this point, _the attacker has been identified as James Buchanan Barnes_.

 _Fuck_.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” Tony said, and cut the call.

He took the elevator to the third floor—once, running probably would’ve been quicker, but he wasn’t getting any younger. The door to their room was open, and Tony _knew_ Steve wouldn’t be there. He had to check anyway, but sure enough: Steve’s suit was thrown carelessly on the bed. His _other_ suit was gone, as was the shield, and really, Tony didn’t need more information.

Seeing Steve’s mobile discarded on the bed just hurt.

Tony needed a plan. He needed to go after Steve.

But Steve had just gone after his best friend who was a brainwashed assassin, and _didn’t tell Tony_. He literally _ran away_ from Tony. Leaving his Starkphone, which he knew very well could be tracked, behind him—because _he didn’t trust Tony_.

Tony thought that at least now, they were in it together. How wrong he had been. 

He put on his sunglasses. “Friday? Where is he going?”

“Boss, all the reports show a Barnes sighting in Bucharest,” Friday said. “Do you want a suit . . .?”

“No!” he said, too loudly, too quickly. But he didn’t think he could go after Steve now. He was too invested. And, objectively, his skills would be better needed somewhere else—somewhere where he’ll need a silk suit and a sharp smile. He sighed. “Call Rhodey.”

Rhodey picked up almost immediately, he must’ve waited for news. “What’s going on, Tones?”

“Steve ran away. I think he’s going after Barnes, to Bucharest.”

Rhodey was silent for a moment. “He didn’t tell you.”

“How do you think, Rhodeybear?” Tony forced himself to calm down. Rhodey was innocent here. “Rhodey,” he said, quieter. “Can you—someone who signed the accords should go there to apprehend him.”

“Sure thing,” Rhodey said without any hesitation at all.

“I can’t—” Tony fought to keep his voice even. “I can’t do it. Not now.”

“Hey,” and Rhodey’s voice was gentle now. “I get it, Tones. Do what you need to. I’ll get Rogers.”

“Thank you,” Tony whispered, and slid to the ground. Everything was going wrong, too fast. Way too fast. And he couldn’t take a break for himself; he still had calls to make, he had to hold himself together. 

“Nat,” he said, when she picked up. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I was lucky.” 

“God, I should’ve come with you—”

“And do what, Tony? You weren’t taking your armour.”

Tony bit on his lip. That was true. 

“I know,” Nat continued. “You’re worried. Thank you.”

“Where are you going now?” Tony asked.

“Berlin,” she said. “That’s where they want to have . . . Them.”

So she heard. 

“I’m sorry, Tony,” she said quietly.

“Are you kidding me, Nat, you almost got blown up and you’re sorry?” He realised his voice was raising and he took a deep breath. “Just—take care. See you in Berlin.” He hanged up. He was so tired already, and it would only get worse. His head hurt as if it threatened to split. Tony thought he wouldn’t quite mind that.

But he had work to do. He dry-swallowed another painkiller. “Friday, call Vision,” he asked her, and waited. 

“Mister Stark?” Vision asked.

Tony closed his eyes. Would he ever stop hearing JARVIS in his voice?

“Yeah,” he said out loud. “Vis—I assume you know what happened.”

“Yes.”

“Please make sure Wanda stays at the compound. We don’t need anything happening to her—or her losing control again.” Tony hated that he had to say that, but they _had_ to be certain. They couldn’t allow anything else to happen now, or the Accords as they were right now would seem like the light solution of the _superhuman problem_.

“I understand,” Vision said after a beat.

“Great. Thank you,” Tony said, before finishing the call.

He sagged. He was done. He only had to pick himself up and fly to Berlin and wait for—hopefully—Steve and _try and fix it_ , _try to make sure Steve remained an Avenger, that Sam did too_. That they all were free.

Tony saw a lot of conversations with Ross in his future, and even more with other politicians, fighting for the Avengers inside the courtroom rather than at the battlefield.

He wanted a drink, but he needed to be at his best. 

“Friday, find me a flight to Berlin,” he said, and got to his feet.

***

Tony arrived to Berlin before Nat, and Everett Ross was out to greet him. Unfortunate last name, Tony mused, as he smiled his best PR smile and shook Everett’s hand.

“I’m a non-combatant,” he said before anyone could even think to ask him to leave his armour at the doorstep. “The armour is in New York. I’m here to handle other problems.”

Everett nodded. “ _Problems_ is one word for Captain America going off the grid.”

Tony dug his nails into his hand and kept walking in step with him. “We’re trying to be diplomatic here, aren’t we, so let’s not go into all these other words we both can think of. I’ve sent Colonel Rhodes to help with detaining him. He signed the Accords, he’s—”

“We know,” Everett cut in, and then he added, “Thank you. Having an Avenger will probably help avoid more fighting.”

Okay, Tony thought. So one Ross could be reasonable. That was progress, right? 

The offices around them all had glass walls—no secrets, or at least none that could be too easily found out. Tony could appreciate that. 

They stopped in the biggest room, six screens over them showing the movements of the German anti-terrorists—Tony had no idea why _they_ had been sent to operate in _Romania_.

It wasn’t as if anyone had any doubts as to where _Steve_ was going, really, and no one could possibly hope normal soldiers could detain Captain America. (Tony thought, sudden chill all over him, that they certainly could _kill_ him instead. Ross was nothing if not trigger happy, and Steve didn’t have a metal suit of armour to protect him from snipers. But that was why Rhodey was on the way there, too. It would be fine. They would talk. They’d solve it.)

Tony let Friday scan the room and then took off his sunglasses, hid them in his pocket. He felt almost naked without them, but he knew he was going to need them more later, and better not attract unnecessary attention right now.

(Somewhere deep in his mind, Tony laughed at the idea of _him not attracting all of the attention_.)

“Mister Wilson also disappeared,” Ross said. “We’re assuming he’s with Captain Rogers.”

“I know what you’re doing here,” Tony said, “but I’d wager you’re assuming correctly. All the other Avengers are accounted for, Agent Romanoff is on her way here.”

Tony was still surprised about this, really; she and Steve were close, he’d have thought she’d help him—but then, he and Steve were also supposed to be _close_. Not just physically.

At least not in _Tony’s_ mind.

He scolded himself. That wasn’t important now. Finding Steve—or waiting until Steve got where they expected him was. 

“So, we’re expecting Captain Rogers to show up in Bucharest,” Tony finally said. “What’s the ETA?”

“Eighty-seven minutes,” Everett Ross said. “We hope we can apprehend the Winter Soldier first.”

That would certainly make things easier. Tony already knew how overprotective Steve could get on the topic—if only he’d let Tony track Bucky earlier. Tony had _known_ it was dangerous to just let him be. He should’ve acted. 

But he hadn’t wanted to betray Steve like that.

“That’s a sound plan,” he admits. “Captain Rogers will not stop without making sure Barnes’ safe. The Accords guarantee—”

“He hasn’t signed them,” Ross cut in. “But if you can convince him, be my guest, because it would make things easier for all of us.”

“Sure thing,” Tony lied easily. Sure, he could convince Steve to change his mind—when hell froze over, maybe. He’d have to find another way. 

“Tony,” Nat says, strolling in the room, confidence in her every step. “Mister Ross.”

“Everett, please,” he said. “I’m not related, I don’t want this surname behind me.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. Well then. 

“Where’s Rogers?” she asked calmly, as if she wanted to know the mission objective and not where her friend and teammate was.

“Moving to Bucharest,” Everett said. 

Nat shook her head. “He’ll go through the anti-terrorists easily—”

“I’m hoping he’ll try and avoid casualties and collateral damage,” Tony said.

Nat gave him a look. “He won’t,” she just said, and damn, she was probably right. “Did we send any support?”

“Colonel Rhodes is flying there as we speak,” Tony said.

Nat nodded. “Let’s hope he’ll hesitate from fighting him.”

Tony was thinking the same thing. 

He itched to go—but without his suit here, he wouldn’t make it in time, and he knew his presence wouldn’t help. Mostly, he hated waiting. When something finally happened, Tony was sure he wouldn’t be able to actually monitor whatever Steve was doing, instead stuck fighting off Secretary Ross. 

He exchanged looks with Nat.

They waited.

***

“I got him,” Rhodey said. 

Tony bit on his lower lip, hard. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he loosened his tie. “Okay,” he cracked out. 

“Tony?”

“Bring him here,” Tony asked. _No questions, Rhodey, please, do it for me. I can’t—just bring him to me_. 

Rhodey seemed to understand Tony—he always did, after all. That was why Tony loved him. “They’re on the way,” he said. “You’ll have an hour, Tones.”

 _An hour._ To prepare himself to see Steve. When a year wouldn’t be enough. 

Tony wanted to be optimistic here, wanted to hope Steve would agree and sign, but he wasn’t a futurist for nothing, and he knew Steve. He won’t make it easy.

God, Tony _loved_ him, but Steve could be damn difficult at times. 

Nat slid into the room, raised her eyebrows. Tony shook his head, but she stayed. 

“Thanks, Rhodey,” he said. “Can you handle clean up over there? None of them cared enough not to trash the city.” 

Just as Nat said, too. _Thank you, Steve, for proving why we need the Accords_ , Tony thought. He was annoyed. He felt betrayed. He wanted to _talk to Steve_ and he knew nothing good would come out of it. 

“You know you didn’t need to ask that,” Rhodey said. “Keep me informed, will you?” 

“Always, honeybear.” Tony ended the call, turned to Natasha. “What is it?”

“Ross will know answers,” she said, not beating around the bush. He could appreciate that. “You’re—officially only, but still—not an Avenger anymore. But you stepped up to handle the mess we started, so he’ll come for you.” She sounded worried.

“I know,” Tony said. “I expect nothing else.” He tried to sound his arrogant best, but he was exhausted already. He wasn’t sure it worked.

“Tony . . .” She looked at him.

Tony smiled. “I’ll handle it,” he said. “Cross my heart and all.”

“It’s not technically your job,” she reminded him.

“Do you see a better candidate?” he snapped. “Nat, I’m _good_ at this.”

“You hate it.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Do I have to tell you sometimes we do things we hate?” He felt trapped. He shrugged off his suit jacket. “Look, I appreciate the—it’s worry, isn’t it, Agent Romanoff?—but you can trust me to handle Ross and whoever else comes at us.” He smiled, crooked. “They can’t possibly be worse than my board.”

Nat laughed. “Fair enough. I met them.” She grew serious. “Will you be okay?”

 _No_. But they couldn’t assume they had any privacy here. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Tony asked back. “Cap broke the Accords. It’s his problem.”

Natasha frowned for less than a second, then she must’ve understood. It was unlike her not to think about it in the first place—or maybe she trusted Tony had? Normally, he made sure to knock out all recording devices, but he couldn’t really do it here, now, waiting for Steve and playing at being helpful. 

Tony’s phone rang.

Tony looked at the screen for a few seconds—even that was longer than he should’ve, he knew—and answered. “Secretary Ross?”

“What the hell is going on there, Stark?” Ross barked. “Rogers blowing up Bucharest in an unapproved mission? I have the UN committee waiting on me, and you’d better have some answers for me.” Ross hanged up, and Tony kept his phone tight. He knew exactly how much a Starkphone could take; he knew he wouldn’t be able to damage it—Steve, maybe—but in this moment, he wanted nothing else than to smash it and have an excuse not to hear Ross ever again.

“I’m sorry,” Nat whispered, then squeezed Tony’s shoulder briefly on her way out. “I’ll tell you when they reach Berlin, Tony.”

“Thanks,” he called after her.

 _Fuck_. It would be a mess. But Barnes _was_ a wanted fugitive, it would all work out if Steve signed the Accords. Tony could spin some PR bullshit about Steve being out of sorts because of Carter’s funeral, that he wanted to sign all along, that the mission was approved. 

(Except Tony saw him _protecting_ Barnes.)

So, more PR bullshit: the Avengers wanted to catch him and put him on trial; not kill him. 

That would maybe convince the public, except Tony knew Barnes wasn’t responsible for any deaths—until, possibly, Bucharest. God, did Steve really know what he was doing? Helping a brainwashed assassin? Who was to say Barnes wouldn’t try to kill Steve in transport? How much of his programming was still there? How much of the _Bucky_ Steve remembered was when the programming was gone?

Tony rubbed his eyes. 

Less than an hour. He’d never be ready.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe; his tie was constricting. He opened it just as his phone rang again.

“Yes, sir?” Tony asked, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.

“I’m flying to Berlin myself,” Ross said. “UN demands it, and, frankly, I don’t trust your assessment.”

“With all due respect, sir, I have followed the Accords—”

“Weren’t you supposed to keep your teammates in check?” Ross asks, cuttingly, and Tony bows his head.

If only Steve had trusted him enough.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Tony said, and Ross cut off the connection.

Tony wiped sweat off his forehead.

He fended more, similarly short and angry calls from Ross. He shrugged out of his suit jacket when it became too much, and started pacing the corridors. The tension was getting to him.

“Where are they?” Ross demanded answers that _Tony didn’t have_ once again. “You do realise this is treason, right?”

“Romania was not Accords-sanctioned,” Tony admitted quietly, then adopted his pleasant voice. “Colonel Rhodes is handling the clean-up,” he said.

“There will be consequences,” Ross threatened. Tony wanted to laugh at him. This was the whole point of it, wasn’t it?

“Consequences? You bet there will be consequences,” he said with the confidence he didn’t feel.

“Can I quote you on that?” Ross snapped. 

“Obviously you can quote me on that ‘cause I just said it,” Tony answered with patience he didn’t have. His eyes were trained on Steve, who was suddenly _right there_. Tony swallowed. “Anything else?” he asked Ross.

“Not now, Stark,” Ross said.

“Thank you, sir,” Tony said, and finally walked closer to Steve.

It took all his control not to step closer than necessary, but then Steve eyed him, asked, “Consequences?”, and Tony stopped dead in his tracks.

“Secretary Ross wants you both persecuted. I had to give him something.” 

“I’m not getting that shield back, am I?” Steve asked.

 _Shield_. That was what he focused on now.

Tony had enough. He turned around, and at least here he could be sure Steve would follow, because what was the alternative, when armed guards probably had permission to shoot him?

“Technically, it’s the government’s property,” Nat said, walking step in step with Tony. “Wings too.”

“That’s cold,” Sam said.

“Warmer than jail!” Tony snapped, because they were his fucking family, and couldn’t they understand _anything_ he was doing here for them? He’d do it all and more, gladly, but it was hard when they were fighting him, and Steve—Steve—Tony couldn’t think of Steve.

He couldn’t.

He had to.

Story of his life.

***

Steve was in one of the glass offices. They couldn’t hope for more privacy than that. Maybe it was a good thing.

Tony walked in, his suit jacket thrown over his arm, and stopped a few metres from Steve. _Don’t get close enough to touch_ , he told himself. _Don’t_.

He set the pens on the table and gave a short, bitter laugh. “Kennedy’s pens,” he said. “I had this whole speech prepared, Steve, but—”

Steve looked up at him, smiled weakly. “I thought we were past that.”

“So did I,” Tony told him. He glanced around, pressed a button in his watch. “I can’t help the vision,” Tony said. Not yet, anyway. “But they won’t hear us.”

Steve tilted his head as if to indicate, _Go on_.

“What are we doing here, Steve?” Tony asked quietly. 

“Tony, you know I had to go,” Steve said. There was no question in his voice, no doubt; just stubbornness and righteousness. “There would’ve been deaths.”

“There have been deaths!” Tony snapped, incredulously. “You levelled half of Bucharest at your little quest, you—” He breaks off. Breathes.

“Well, maybe if—”

“If what, the world ignored _a known assassin_ showing up?”

Steve flexed his fist. He probably didn’t consciously try to be threatening, but a part of Tony wished he was, a part of Tony wished they could get close and physical about it and scream their difference into each other’s mouth—but world didn’t work like that. 

God, he wanted to touch Steve.

“Steve. Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Tony asked. His voice was more brittle than he wanted.

Steve met his eyes over the table. “Would you have helped?” he asked back. “With the Accords?”

“ _Yes_.” This was important. This was the part Steve clearly didn’t get. “They don’t stop us acting, Steve—they make sure we have some boundaries, too. That we _don’t fuck off and destroy a European capital on a whim with no plan_.”

Steve flinched. Tony felt a perverse sort of satisfaction for a second, and then just felt sick with himself. He shrugged his jacket back on. Steve’s eyes were following his every move.

“I told you,” he said. “This, here, was Bucky—but I can’t ignore any situation like that. Sometimes I wish I could.”

Tony gave him a look. “No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” Steve agreed, chuckling. He looked more open. “I hated leaving you there, Tony. You have to believe me.”

But it hadn’t taken Steve more than a second of hesitation.

Tony put his tie on next. “I do,” he said carefully.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” Steve added.

Tony flinched. Hearing that was why was somehow worse than just _knowing_. But Tony’s personal feelings weren’t important.

“So far,” Tony said, voice carefully blank, “nothing has happened that can’t be undone. Sign, Steve, and Barnes will get legal psych help, and everything will go back to norm.”

“I need fail safes,” Steve said, staring at the document between them.

“Of course,” Tony agreed. “Just let me put out the PR fire.” _That you started_ , he didn’t add. He didn’t want to antagonize Steve. He just wanted Steve to agree with him. The Accords weren’t ideal, but they were the best option they had. “Then we’ll reinstate you and Wanda—” Tony saw his mistake before he even finished speaking.

Steve stood up, reeling back. “Wanda? What’s wrong with Wanda now?”

Tony’s headache flashed up. “She’s fine, she’s confined to the compound, it’s for her own safety.”

“She’s a kid!”

“She’s not an American citizen and they don’t grant visas to weapons of mass destruction!” Tony yelled back. _A kid,_ he thought _, yes, a kid who made me see you die_. A kid. Definitely. But a kid who needed to be protected from people just as much as they needed to be protected from her. Why couldn’t Steve see it?

“Every time I start to trust you—every time, Tony—you go and—”

Tony’s eyes were burning. He’d known he shouldn’t have hoped for anything here. “Give me a break!” He breathed heavily. “I’m doing what has to be done. To stave off something worse.”

And wasn’t it obvious, with the way Steve was arrested and Barnes was about to be extradited?

“Keep telling yourself that,” Steve shot back.

He could’ve just punched Tony.

“So is that it?” Tony asked in a small voice just as Steve made it to the doorway. He hated himself for asking the question, but he couldn’t _not_ know.

“It?” Steve asked.

“Us.” Tony wasn’t looking at him.

“You want to discuss it now,” Steve said flatly.

Tony shook his head. “Forget it, Cap.”

A part of him hoped Steve would stay. Apologise. Reassure him.

But Steve just walked out.

Tony took in a shaky breath and reached for his sunglasses.

***

Barnes packed one hell of a punch, but Tony didn’t want nor have time to get himself checked out. His left arm hurt constantly, and he couldn’t see that well with his right eye—but he’d survived through worse. And now _Steve was gone_ and Tony had to find him. He didn’t have time to waste on himself. But he took a moment to sit, if only because he wasn’t sure if he could keep standing. The arc reactor was long gone, but without its reassuring light, Tony was never sure anymore if his heart was actually okay.

(Chances were, it had never been.)

Did Steve realise what he was doing?

Did he have a plan, that he once again failed to share with Tony?

Tony opened another button of his shirt—it was in shreds anyway—and rubbed the arc reactor scar. It didn’t offer any comfort, now. 

His heart was beating wildly, he could hear his pulse in his ears. He needed sleep, and he was wide awake, almost shaking. It was too much. It was all too much. He forced himself to breathe, as well as he could. He wouldn’t fall apart here.

Ross walked in, looking mad. Nothing new there.

“And I don’t suppose you have any idea where they are?” he asked almost impassively.

“We will,” Tony replied immediately. “They’re doing recon 24/7. They’ll get a hit, we’ll handle it.” This, at least, Tony was certain of. Steve was his responsibility, in every meaning. It was on Tony to bring him back safe.

“You don’t get it, Stark?” Ross asked. “It’s not yours to handle. It’s clear you can’t be objective.”

Tony’s blood ran cold. “Excuse me?”

“Want me to spell it out, Stark?” 

Tony stood up. “Yeah, I rather think I do.”

“Isn’t it a conflict of interest when you sign the Accords, and fuck a guy who doesn’t? Because the way I see it, Barnes wouldn’t have escaped without internal help, and Rogers clearly had access to that.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tony said. “You can insinuate whatever you want—”

“You think I’m insinuating?” Ross huffed a laugh. “Stark, everyone knows you’re a whore, but I’ll admit to being surprised when the pictures of Captain Rogers arose . . .” He trailed off, but he had his phone out, and on his screen there was a picture, Steve and Tony kissing, limbs tangled together. Tony wasn’t not even sure _when_ it could’ve been taken, but it was undeniably of them.

“Tony . . .” Nat said quietly.

Tony shook his head.

“What are the options for Captain Rogers?” he asked very slowly.

“Shouldn’t you be worried about yourself first?” Ross raised his eyebrows.

“Captain Rogers,” Tony repeated, leaning forward. “What are you going to do with him?”

“What I’d do with any criminal,” Ross said.

“You’d kill Captain America?” Nat asked incredulously. 

“If we’re provoked,” Ross confirmed calmly. 

Tony’s heart was still speeding. He made himself sit down, look up at Ross. “With all due respect, sir, you’re not going to solve it with boys and bullets. You’ve got to let us bring them in.”

“So you, what, could run away with them?” Ross asked.

“Don’t you think,” Tony grits out, “that if this picture were true, I wouldn’t be here anymore?” He takes a deep breathe. “As I am still here, you can assume I support the accords.”

Ross looked considering. “Let’s say I let you try. How would that be different this time?”

“This time, I won’t be wearing loafers and a silk shirt,” Tony gritted out. “I _will_ bring them in. 72 hours. Guaranteed.”

Even if Ross didn’t believe anything Tony just said, even if he was sure agreeing would only let Tony escape—he also couldn’t lock Tony up forever without trial. If Tony left only to help Steve, he’d be proving Ross right. They both knew it. And Tony didn’t care about what happened to him, but he very much cared what would happen to Steve.

“36 hours,” Ross said finally. “Rogers. Barnes. Wilson.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tony said.

“And for you, arrest,” Ross finished. “And then, a trial. Do your maths on what the outcome might be.”

Tony swallowed. 

He couldn’t argue that. But it would be worth it. For Steve, it would.

Nat looked at him with an unreadable expression. She touched his arm, briefly, and left him alone to his thoughts. 

_Fuck_.

Everything was falling apart.

***

Rhodey would’ve yelled at him if Tony had told him what had happened, so Tony didn’t. Natasha kept watching him, always in the corner of his eyes, but didn’t ask any question. She probably understood better than most. Tony didn’t matter here at all. Steve did.

Tony didn’t want a fight. He’d give everything to avoid one. But he knew Steve, he knew exactly how stubborn the man could be. Tony would try everything else first, but if it failed, he _would_ fight Steve. Anything to keep the alternative off the table. _Anything_. And he still hoped, against all proof, that Steve would just stop and listen. He was a good strategist. What did he think he could accomplish by running away with Barnes like that, other than putting the two of them and Wilson on the watchlist of every country in the world?

Tony got it, he did, Barnes was his only link to his old life, especially now, with Peggy gone. They were friends. Tony would do anything for Rhodey, too. But Steve wasn’t helping anyone here, the contrary. Whatever court might have been willing to listen, to acquit Barnes of the Winter Soldier’s claims—most of these options were gone with what happened in Vienna, and Steve was destroying what little alternatives they had.

And why, _why_ hadn’t he trusted Tony?

Tony shook his head, annoyed at himself. He had to focus. Thinking of what Steve said in Berlin only made Tony want to drink, and that wouldn’t lead anywhere good. Not when he had so little time to find him. 

“Tony.”

Tony blinked, turned to see Nat standing next to him. “Yeah? Any word?”

Finding a supersoldier, an assassin, and a special ops trooper apparently was not actually a piece of cake. Who would’ve thought?

“Not yet,” she said. “And Friday would alert you immediately.”

Tony conceded the point.

“Since you put the armour on the moment it arrived and haven’t taken it off yet,” Nat continued. 

Tony stiffened. “We have to be ready.” 

“You can get suited up after being thrown out a window, Tony, I don’t think that’s your motivation here.” She was eyeing him in that slightly unsettling way she had. 

“Yes, well,” he said. “Forgive me if I don’t trust everyone here.” She flinched; it was barely noticeable, but there, and Tony swore, hurried to continue add, “and you know I don’t mean you here, Romanoff.”

“Couldn’t blame you, though,” she said, and Tony rolled his eyes, belatedly realising she wouldn’t see it. 

“You have lawyers,” she said. “You could fight Ross.”

“And what good would it do _now_?” Tony asked. He was so exhausted already, and they’d barely done anything so far. He can get his lawyers on it later, when Steve is _safe_. And maybe, hopefully, when they had a chance to talk, and—

 _Do not go there, Stark,_ he told himself firmly.

“They’re probably hiding,” Tony said. “Somewhere close. They wouldn’t risk moving with no reason, and—”

“Boss, call from Vision,” Friday cut in. “Hawkeye’s broken in.”

So it would appear they have a reason. 

“Vision, talk to me,” Tony said, broadcasting the conversation to Nat and Rhodey’s comms, too. 

“I’m sorry, Mister Stark, it would appear I wasn’t careful enough,” Vision said.

“He took Wanda?” Tony understood.

“He wouldn’t be able to if she didn’t want to go,” Nat said quietly, moving closer to Tony. She didn’t have the advantage of hiding her voice.

“Correct, Miss Romanoff.”

Tony’s headache flared up. “Okay, Vision—not your fault, we all know Wanda’s strong. Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“I—what’s the quickest way for you to Europe? We’re in Berlin, get to us,” Tony said. 

“Hawkeye and Wanda have some head start, I’m afraid,” Vision said apologetically. “I was incapacitated for a while.”

And the compound alarms didn’t alert Tony?! Wanda’s magic could do weird things to tech, but . . . Well, and Steve could’ve given him his access codes to literally everything, Clint would've known how to use them without triggering any flags. _Fuck_. 

“Okay,” Tony said. “Okay. Just—make sure you’re okay, Vision, and come if you can. We’ll run a tighter scan, try to find where they’re going.”

“I will try to come, Mister Stark,” Vision said.

Tony hung up. He looked at Nat. 

“You do know we’re ridiculously overpowered,” Rhodey said over their private comms. 

“I know,” Tony said curtly.

“What about that—”

“I’m not bringing him in for that,” Tony said. Damn, it was all going to hell. He’d wanted to update Peter’s suit, introduce him to the Avengers at some point—but not when the Avengers were divided. And definitely not when Tony himself was about to be arrested. From what Tony saw, Peter was a good kid. He didn’t deserve being pulled in the middle of this.

“I get why,” Rhodey said. “But we need all the help we can get.”

“I don’t want to need it,” Tony said quietly. “I want—fuck, Rhodey. I know I’ll have to fight him. But I’m not planning how to—to injure any of them. This armour is stripped of lethal weapons. We’re going easy.”

“Are they?” Rhodey asked. “Look, Tones—I just don’t want you to get hurt. More.”

“Well,” Tony muttered, “it’s a bit too late for that.”

One of the computers turned up an alert. 

Nat was on it before Tony, leant down to read it, and then straightened with a grim face. “Sharon Carter was helping them—they’re going to Leipzig.” 

Well, so Ross _was_ right, they had insider help. Only it wasn’t Tony. And _why the fuck didn’t Tony notice before?_ Fuck. At least they knew where to go, now. Leipzig wasn’t even far, two hundreds kilometres; Tony wondered why there. Airport, probably, smaller than either of Berlin’s, but . . . _Where_ were they going that they risked flying? What was Steve playing at? This didn’t make any sense. But Tony couldn’t wish more data out of thin air.

He sent a message to Vision, looked at Nat.

“Ready,” she said.

T’Challa walked in the room. “So, Leipzig?” 

“So it would seem, your highness,” Tony said.

Tony should say something. T’Challa wanted to kill Barnes, plain and simple. Tony knew he wouldn’t get Steve back if that happened—just as he knew that maybe there was nothing of Barnes left there, maybe it was all The Winter Soldier, manipulating Steve’s feelings. But this wasn’t something that could be decided just like that. They didn’t know enough. These days, Tony always felt like he didn’t know enough.

“For your sake, Stark,” T’Challa said, “I will accept _catching_ him this time.”

Huh. Tony didn’t expect that. But then, Barnes was supposed to be extradited to Wakanda, and _they_ allowed death penalty. Tony would take what he could now, though. “Thank you,” he said.

They boarded the quinjet and flew to Leipzig.

And then Tony couldn’t think, because Steve was there, running across the airport to the helicopter, and suited up for fight.

Then again, so was Tony.

***

“Ross gave me thirty-six hours to bring you in. That was twenty-four hours ago,” Tony said, ignoring the other part of Ross’ ultimatum. “Help a—friend out?” he all but begged.

Things were never that easy in Tony Stark’s life.

He asked Rhodey to deal with Steve; even after all thinking about it for hours, he still wasn’t not sure if he’d be able to hit Steve.

Then Wanda dropped a parking worth of heavy cars at him, and when Tony crawled out from under them, his arm throbbing painfully with every move, he realised that yeah, he’d planned to take it easy, but now all bets were off. T’Challa circled Barnes; Nat kept Clint busy, Rhodey tried to contain Wanda, and Tony traded punches with Steve like that was the only thing that mattered, like he wanted to hurt him and not kiss him—but Steve would die, if Tony didn’t stop him here, he’d die; and Tony had seen him pale and dead already and it had been his fault, and he was _never_ letting it happen again.

The one thing Tony hadn’t counted for was one of his friends betraying him.

He should’ve learnt, after Steve.

But he didn’t have time and he didn’t want to even look at Natasha; he had to fly after Steve and Barnes, Rhodey at his side, Rhodey who was probably the only person who never let Tony down and never would.

And then Vision shot him down.

This couldn’t be happening, Tony thought, against everything, dashing down after Rhodey, fast as he could—but he knew it wouldn’t be fast enough, he calculated the speed of Rhodey’s freefall, he wouldn’t never catch him.

He hadn’t caught Pepper in time.

And now, he didn’t catch Rhodey, either.

***

 _A disaster_ didn’t even cover it.

Tony got his best friend paralysed—and for what? Steve was still out there, and this time, Ross was preparing troops to take him down along with Barnes.

Tony was only surprised he was even allowed to stay in the hospital with Rhodey, that they didn’t force him out in handcuffs immediately. He knew the other Avengers were in the Raft, wherever that was, already; but then, they had broken the Accords. Tony, at least officially, hadn’t. 

It would change when the proof of his relationship with Steve was presented to the court, obviously.

He couldn’t quite worry about it, because _Rhodey would never walk again_ and _it was Tony’s fault._

Steve must’ve seen him fall, and hadn’t come back.

But _Steve was still in danger_ and Tony couldn’t deal with anything here. God, but he wanted a drink. He wanted to lock himself in the BARF and pretend the last week just didn’t happen. 

He didn’t know what to do. 

He could track Steve—he took the Quinjet, for fuck’s sake—but what would be the point? Fighting him again, without any support this time? Steve had already shown he didn’t care about Tony enough to just listen. If only Tony could stop caring himself. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Tony took it out surreptitiously and glanced at the screen.

“What is this, Friday?” he asked quietly. There weren’t any agents inside the ward—officially at least—but he wasn’t risking it.

“Priority transmission from Berlin police,” she said.

Tony thought back to the airport fight. _Hear me out, Tony. That doctor, the psychiatrist . . ._

Maybe it was Tony who hadn’t listened. Maybe _his_ judgement had been askew. Maybe even Ross had been right: Tony wasn’t objective. 

What if Steve _had_ a reason for leaving him and fighting his way out? What if it was all on Tony?

He read the report. Looked at Rhodey lying there unconscious one last time and turned back.

Time Iron Man broke the Accords.

***

The agents were outside the ward doors. Tony hoped to go without sneaking out, but he thought that wasn’t exactly possible. It wasn’t as if he could make things worse, though; either way, Ross was only waiting to arrest him, and probably quote his _mercy_ in letting Tony see Rhodey the better to convince Tony to cooperate.

As if.

Tony took a deep breath and went out. Two men in suits were on his sides immediately. They looked more like bodyguards than agents arresting a billionaire—and maybe that was it. Maybe Ross _wanted_ to keep it quiet. Maybe there’d be more blackmail now. _Build us weapons, or else_.

Ross couldn’t hurt him more than Tony already did. 

“Nice day, isn’t it?” Tony said cheerfully.

“Quite, Mister Stark,” the guy to the left answered, following Tony to the door. “The copter is on the roof.”

Well. That made things easier.

Tony went along with it. They always kept themselves between him and any way out, be it in the elevator or the corridor after that, but one of them had an interesting package in his hand. It made no sense for them to keep it so close—but maybe they were worried about Tony using it remotely. They led Tony outside, all the time acting professional—no shoving, no threats; just smiles and “Secretary Ross is expecting you, Mister Stark”. Once on the roof, they made sure to keep Tony close to the walls—but it was enough.

Tony punched the guy holding the suitcase, hard, like Steve had taught him. 

“Sorry, this was just _so shiny_ ,” Tony said, grabbing for it; he was pretty sure they couldn’t fire at him, but he wasn’t willing to risk it. The suit opened under his touch—thank god for biometrics—and Tony said, “Friday, deploy armour.”

His hand gauntlet was around his fingers already, and he raised it and aimed at the other guy. “Drop the gun,” he called. 

“Secretary Ross will bury you,” the agent spat.

Armour was covering Tony already, but he thought, _not if I do it first_. 

The moment the faceplate snapped into place, Tony was flying away, to the north.

“Friday, stealth mode,” he said. “Track our quinjet.”

“Already on it, boss,” she replied cheekily as always.

“Okay,” he said. “Show me everything we have on this guy.”

His HUD filled with images, and Friday narrated the history for him. So the fake doctor, _Zemo_ , was Sokovian. 

Which meant it was Tony’s fault, once again. Just ask Wanda.

His arm still hurt, especially forced in the position in armour like that, but the suit’s med protocols were limited, and he’d rather keep them ready, just in case. Steve had one hell of a head-start, but flying the armour as fast as it’d go, Tony could yet catch him.

“You won’t have much power left,” Friday warned. “These aren’t good flight conditions.”

Of course they weren’t, cold rain that would become snow the further into Siberia Tony got, but it didn’t matter. He had to find Steve and help him and apologise and _try to fix this whole damn mess_.

He went on.

***

The quinjet’s coordinates led him to what presumably was an abandoned Soviet base. The quinjet itself was landed in a field of white snow, already covered by a thin layer of it. This didn’t mean Steve had arrived much earlier, though; Tony could barely see through the blizzard, it wouldn’t have taken a lot of time to cover the jet. Heat detection didn’t show him anyone out here, so Tony walked over to the door. The pin pad was smashed in. _With a location like this, who needs security_ , he mused, stepping in. 

He found himself in a dimly lit corridor, reminiscent of all the other Hydra bases he’d seen records of—or all of the maniacs’ hideouts in horror movies. There were two pairs of steps leading to an antique lift. Tony eyed it, opted to fly down next to the shaft instead. 

His sensors still didn’t—ah, _there_. The walls were thick, but Tony could now see a pale shape of two silhouettes behind them. He set down at the bottom of the shaft, in front of heavy metal doors. He probably wouldn’t be able to open them without the armour, but that of course wasn’t an issue to Steve or Barnes, from what Tony saw of his metal arm. Tony’s shoulder protested as he braced himself—at this rate he was going to permanently damage it, but it was the least of his worries right now.

As he opened the door, he finally saw Steve. He had his shield raised in front, ready to defend himself—or to attack. It was captivating, almost, how Steve used what should be defensive as a weapon. 

Tony opened his helmet before speaking. Steve might not even listen to a word he said otherwise. 

Steve tilted his head. “Tony.” He moved the shield down, a fraction of an inch, as if he wanted to put it away, trust Tony—and stopped himself.

Well, Tony couldn’t exactly blame him now. He looked over him at Barnes, who hadn’t even stirred, kept his sniper rifle aimed straight at Tony. “At ease, soldier, I’m not after you.”

Barnes didn’t move.

“Then why are you here?” Steve asked, something raw in his voice.

There were so many answers to this question, and only one that mattered. “For you,” Tony admitted. “To help you. To—”

He couldn’t keep talking, because Steve pushed him into the wall, kissed him like his life depended on it. His lips were cold, and Tony couldn’t feel where Steve grabbed the armour, but that didn’t stop him from kissing back, trying to hold on to Steve for as long as he could.

Maybe they could fix it. Get Zemo, and then deal with Ross, with the Accords.

Tony could never stop hoping.

“What brought the change of mind?” Steve asked, still standing close.

“Maybe your story isn’t so crazy,” Tony said. 

They looked at each other for a few long, weighted seconds. Tony could see exactly what Steve was thinking, and he knew what he’d say in reply to these accusations: you should’ve told me before, you shouldn’t have run, I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, but also _you should’ve trusted me, too_ , because it was a two-way street. 

Steve nodded, as if he understood it all in Tony’s eyes, too. “Ross?” he asked, then, and Tony looked away.

“Ross doesn’t know I’m here,” he said, finally. He knew Tony was _somewhere_ , though. But that was something to deal with later, not in the middle of enemy territory, even abandoned as it seemed so far.

“Okay,” Steve said, his voice clearly conveying _I can see it’s not everything, but Zemo comes first_. 

So they could still agree on something. What a pleasant surprise. 

Steve stepped away from Tony then and nodded at Barnes. Tony moved to the front of both of them—he was the one wearing a suit of armour—and they went further into the base. There was something ominous about the flickering lights and heavy atmosphere, but Tony paid it no mind. He was back at the same side with Steve, when for moment he’d thought it might not happen again. 

It’s like Steve had promised: they’d win or fail, but they’d do it _together_.

And then, behind the final door, they found the five dead supersoldiers, Zemo, and an old video recording, and Tony’s world shattered in a way he could never have foreseen.

***

He had to look. He had to commit it to memory. He owed it to his mother. He hadn’t even kissed her goodbye—so he had to stand witness, now. Watch Barnes catch her by her throat—and Tony remembered her singing, how delicate her voice sounded, how she always took care her of her voice—and squeezed, hard, unbudging, brutal—

Tony closed his eyes. 

When he opened them again what felt like years later, it was over: Barnes was walking around the car, to the trunk, and the recording stopped. 

Tony’s mother. Tony’s beloved mum. And Barnes murdering her in cold blood.

Tony couldn’t process it. It was as if there was an infinite loop instruction in his brain. He tried to think of something else—Zemo—Barnes killed Tony’s mum.

Barnes was standing right there, and he’d killed Tony’s mum.

Steve—

Tony took a step away from him. He had a sinking feeling he knew already. “Did you know?” he whispered. 

Barnes killed Tony’s mum, and Steve stood there, not watching the recording—watching Tony.

“I didn’t know it was him,” Steve said finally. 

So Tony didn’t even deserve the honesty that Captain America so highly valued?

He felt like crying. He wouldn’t be so pathetic. “Don’t bullshit me, Rogers,” he snapped, his vision blurry. Not blurry enough to wipe away the terrible memory, his mum, his beautiful mum, and . . . “Did. You. Know.”

_Please say no please say sorry please say it’s a bad joke please say there’s fixing this_

Steve faced him straight on. “Yes.”

There had never been any hope for them.

Tony didn’t think it through at all, but he wasn’t surprised when suddenly his fist connected with Steve’s jaw, because _Steve had known and had kept lying to Tony and Steve had known who killed his mum—_

Tony wasn’t processing anything, just this: he wanted to hurt someone, anyone, or else he’d hurt himself, and that was also a tempting option, because he couldn’t imagine ever thinking about anything else again, and his mum and even _Howard_ , and the sick sound as Barnes had broken his skull on the driving wheel, and—

Barnes jumped on Tony, trying to pull him off Steve, and Tony lashed out, punched him back, set repulsors on him. It was so much easier fighting someone he wasn’t afraid of actually hurting. So much easier fighting someone who might kill him.

Or maybe Steve would do that, now.

Barnes broke his repulsor, and Tony could feel his hand getting crushed inside the gauntlet.

“Friday, cut my pain receptors,” he gasped out, ignored her protests.

The lack of physical pain didn’t make anything better. 

He dodged some punches and gave another, and he couldn’t think, he knew Iron Man was better at long distance and he couldn’t plan, he couldn’t—his mum, murdered by the man in front of him. 

Friday warned him about low power again. _Tony didn’t care_.

“It wasn’t his fault!” Steve put himself between Tony and Barnes.

Choosing him, even now, even when he knew . . . 

“I don’t care,” Tony gritted out. “He killed my mum!”

He thought he blew Barnes' metal arm off at some point, and he didn’t care, he was a mess, he was pain and anger and all-encompassing grief, and nothing was supposed to be like that, nothing—

Steve punched him, and Tony staggered back. It didn’t slow Steve down; he kept hitting Tony, the shield almost breaking the armour in places—Tony couldn’t think.

“Friday, countermeasures,” he gasped out. 

The armour calculated it quickly, and then he just had to follow, dodge, punch, repulsor, but on low power, always low, because his top could hurt the Hulk, and Tony still wasn’t risking injuring Steve, he couldn’t, he just wanted—he wanted him to say _sorry_ he wanted him to say _it wasn’t your fault, Tony_ , he wanted him to say, _we’ll stay together, you can do it_ , he wanted Steve to take his side for once, and he wanted his mum to be alive. 

It wasn’t even cathartic, hitting Steve, it just made Tony hurt more, and he distantly he wondered what was happening to his own body, when he couldn’t feel pain anymore.

Steve stepped forward, reaching for Tony, different than his normal fighting style, and Tony dodged, but a brief second too late—Steve had touched his armour, and in the next second, Tony was on his knees, pain flaring up _everywhere_ , his HUD dark, Friday’s voice gone from his comms—

Steve kicked him to the side, and Tony remembered an old conversation, understood that Steve had just used an EMP on him.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised, at this point. He either destroyed those he loved, or they destroyed him.

Steve knelt over him and kept hitting him—with the shield, probably, but Tony couldn’t see, not with the dead faceplate still in place, and in a way he was grateful for it, that it’d end like this, that he’d die in darkness, never see anything again—

Steve ripped off his faceplate.

Tony looked up and saw Steve over him, bloody, angry, his shield raised high. If he brought it down fast, it wouldn’t even hurt.

But he wasn’t moving.

“What are you waiting for, Steve?” Tony whispered. He might’ve been crying, now. He could feel blood in his mouth. “Finish it.”

Something changed in Steve’s expression.

Tony closed his eyes.

The shield hit the armour’s arc reactor, breaking it in half, but Tony’s life no longer depended on it. _Unfortunately_ , his mind whispered.

Steve stared at him with something akin to horror on his face.

Tony wasn’t sure how much time passed when Steve rolled away, picked up his shield, left; didn’t look back. Barnes walked next to him, silent. 

Tony wanted to yell, to make Steve stop, he thought _the shield was his dad’s_ and _Steve doesn’t deserve it_.

But he couldn’t find his voice, and he couldn’t breathe. 

So that’s what _love_ meant to Steve Rogers, Tony thought, sliding into darkness.

***

Tony woke up. 

For a brief moment, right between dream and reality, he remembered everything that happened, and happily decided, _nightmare_. Couldn’t be anything else, after all. He moved to the right, to try and snuggle into Steve, and found he couldn’t move. Pain registered in the next second, in every part of his body at once.

He opened his eyes in panic, hands reaching for his chest, but he couldn’t do that either. 

He surveyed the room with wild eyes. A hospital room, clearly. Army, probably. His right hand was cuffed to the bed. His left hand was covered in bandages almost to his fingertips. He tried to flex his fingers, but the pain only intensified at that. 

He didn’t want to be alive. How was it even possible? Steve left him there. Did he come back? Tony was pathetic for even hoping, but . . . 

He couldn’t think about the other thing. He couldn’t even start considering his parents. He suspected he’d never be able to.

How was he alive?

Because the last time he ended up alive when he shouldn’t be, a good man died, and Tony had believed it must’ve been for a reason. He was proven wrong. 

He didn’t _want_ to be alive.

He wanted to call for a nurse, but he doubted anyone would come, and he was sure no one would give him any answers. His chest hurt more with every breath.

He slid back into unconsciousness, not quite fast enough to stop memories of Steve hitting him from resurfacing.

***

Contrary to Steve, Ross, at least, kept his promise.

Tony didn’t comment on the picture of him and Steve kissing. His life was in pieces; he didn’t care. But confirming that it was real could lead to it being used it against Steve, and Tony couldn’t allow it. He just didn’t say anything. He admitted to assaulting two agents and then breaking the Accords to help a known criminal. King T’Challa had testified that Zemo had arranged the Vienna attack, and Tony was helping bring him down, but it didn’t mean much when Tony kept repeating, _I broke the Accords. I’m all about accountability, and I willingly broke the Accords_. 

“It’s like you want me to throw you to the Raft and lose the key,” Ross said after the last hearing.

“Why, Secretary, isn’t that _your_ secret dream?” Tony asked. The joke felt flat even in his own ears.

He wanted to be gone. He wanted not to deal with anything. He wanted a restart, or maybe just an end. A cell in a secret prison didn’t sound so bad. 

“The final hearing is tomorrow, Stark,” Ross said. “I’d advise you prepare for prison.”

Would it be any different than his life right now, Tony mused. It wasn’t as if he had anything left.

Steve had said he loved him, and had broken his heart to protect the man who murdered Tony’s parents.

Sometimes, Tony thought he would feel guilty if he’d killed Barnes. Sometimes he thought that maybe _that_ would’ve made Steve finally kill him, so that Tony would be free.

He got escorted home—last night of freedom, agents at every door. 

He wasn’t running away this time.

***

Tony drank.

It still hurt as if Steve took his heart out and destroyed it—and Tony was intimately familiar with that pain, after years of the arc reactor, after said reactor had been killing him.

 _He’s my friend_ , Tony thought, and wanted to scream, wanted to break things, wanted to break himself—it was his fault.

It was his fault he let that situation get that far, that he hadn’t seen something was wrong with that psychiatrist earlier, that he hadn’t prepared the Avengers for the possibility of the Accords, that he hadn’t foreseen the catastrophe in Lagos—

He trusted Steve with everything he had, and now he was left with nothing but an empty mansion, shattered armour, a full bottle of whiskey.

It was his own damn fault, Tony thought again, and drank. Maybe he could keep drinking until it’d be enough.

He’d tried so hard, and he’d failed. Wasn’t that the story of his life? Why had he kept trying? He couldn’t remember anymore.

Rhodey was paralysed because of him. Tony will never forgive himself for that.

The Avengers were torn apart.

Wouldn’t it be better if Tony had never existed?

He carefully sat down. His ribs were still broken. He set his bottle on the table next to him. Steve’s t-shirt was still on the sofa, left there from before all that mess, and Tony wanted to burn it and still couldn’t bring himself to. It wouldn’t matter tomorrow anyway, would it? Only the Raft awaited him now.

Tony drank, and there was no one to stop him.

**Author's Note:**

> [This fic has a tumblr post here](https://laireshi.tumblr.com/post/154305542872/c-im-big-bang-downwards-ever-faster). sleepyoceanprince's post, already linked above the fic, [is here](http://sleepyoceanprince.tumblr.com/post/154305232668/art-for-laireshis-awesome-incredibly-angsty-and).


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